Destruction of Obsession
by KittyPimms
Summary: When Christine turns the Scorpion, her life is forever changed. Bound by the vows she makes before God, she struggles to embrace the life she has chosen, and learns that Erik is not the only monster in the world. E/C, Leroux.
1. Chapter 1

I want to give a _tremendous _thank you to all of you who have read, reviewed, favourited, and alerted this story over the past two years. It is because of you that I found the courage to do this.

As of 10/18/2013 I have pulled this story to be published. The first chapter shall remain as well as the Appendixes and I hope those of you who desire to continue reading this story will look into owning it for yourselves. I know some may be disappointed that it is no longer available in this format in its entirety, and I respect that, but I felt that now was the time to take this step. Thank you all again _so _much for your support. You have truly helped me grow and develop both as a writer and as a person.

10/21/2013: _Destruction of Obsession _is now available in both physical and digital formats through Amazon! These are published under my real name of Catherine Miller, but the title has remained the same so it should be easy to locate. Both versions should be available internationally (goodness knows I filled out enough forms for that!) but if ever you hit a roadblock in acquiring a copy, let me know and I'll see what I can do. Thank you again!

* * *

I

She had done it. The Scorpion felt warm between her hands even as the cool underground air chilled her to the bone. Erik's seemingly disinterested manner did nothing to quell the horrified realization of her choice.

_What had she done?_

He had said she had a choice, that if she truly wished to remain unattached to a monster she had simply turn the Grasshopper and she would be free. In her childish selfishness she wanted nothing more than to be free of all choice and decision. All those people, blown to bits because this angel, this man, this _monster_ wanted his living wife. She had cried out for guidance, for any sign to guide her to the right path which would grant hope for her future. A mere wisp of a voice echoed in her ear as the final moments of the clock ran out, signally the end of Erik's dreadful ultimatum.

_Such a good girl, Christine._

So she had made her choice, had turned the Scorpion until the sounds of water could be heard above her shuddering sobs. When her name frantically being called met her ears her sobs turned into pleadings for the life of her beloved Raoul and the foolish man who had tried to help her. If only they could understand she was beyond saving. This fallen angel had claimed her for his own, and no power available to their mortal hands could stay his long, dead fingers from ensnaring her once again.

Even her own feeble madness had been nothing compared to his. Left to her own devices, she had attempted to create a third choice, one which would allow the innocents to go free, while she, with her tainted soul and rendered heart, would be the only victim.

But he had denied her that also, filling her head with that unbearable voice as he told her over and over of her naughtiness for behaving thusly. Finally he had bound her to a chair, securing her so surely the tips of her delicate fingers had begun to go numb within minutes. _Choices. _These were not choices. These were the decisions made based upon the evaluation of consequences, ones she had weighed and enacted.

His eyes were on her as she knelt, grasping at his finely crafted trousers, begging for the life of the two men about to drown. "Why should his Christine need her lover when she has such a loving husband?"

Was he? Was he her husband? Did the simple touch of a metal figurine truly bind her to this… man, forever? But if it would arouse his compassion enough to turn the spigot of the water away from the demise of the man she loved, she could sacrifice the last vestige of her freedom.

"Erik, Erik _please_. Don't you trust your wife? I chose the Scorpion! I chose _you_!"

He abruptly pulled away from her clutching hands and stalked around the room muttering obscenities before again coming before her defeated form. "Erik's wife has given him no reason to trust her! Even now, when she should be giving him some means of affection to commemorate their happy union—convince him that she could be a happy little wife—all she does is look at him with _tears_ for her lover!"

Christine did not think her sobs could become any more wretched, but as this man who had meant so much to her thundered out his anger and frustrations, she felt the loss of sanity creep over her once more. She was naught but sixteen. He wanted a wife, and all she knew was to be his student, nothing more. There were few marriages in the Opera house, most simply illicit gropings in darkened corners. Her mother had died so very long ago and she had no memories of how she behaved to her father.

And so she did nothing, and cried like the child she was until his polished leather shoes came to rest under her gaze.

"Erik's poor little wife must be tired after her wedding, and it is her husband's duty to ensure her health." Christine could not tell from whence it came, but a vial was pushed to her lips and she did not care to struggle. She had tried to die once this night, a second time would make no great difference.

She could not tell the effect of the drugs at first, she felt entirely herself aside from her still leaking eyes and head which pounded from both abuse and tears. But one moment she was lucid and the next she could only vaguely see Erik's shadow as she was enveloped by his darkness and taken to where she could only surmise was her bedroom. Were they to consummate their marriage now? She was too tired to care. Better he do it now while she was floating outside herself then when she could feel every bone and cold ounce of flesh pressed against her pallid skin.

_Oh God, what have I done?_

Just as soon as her body reclined on the bed coverings he had provided her, he rose and departed, leaving her to the emptiness of her darkened room and befuddled thoughts.

-X-

She could not tell how long she had slept. Her head still hurt and her eyes had a continual squint as she tried to assess the shadowed room around her. When she had stayed with Erik before, she had asked him with full expectation of his refusal if he would be kind enough to open her door a crack as to let in light from the exterior rooms. She had never been fond of the dark. The darkened state of her room spoke volumes of his continued displeasure.

Fumbling about her night table, she located the small matchbook and lit a candle with trembling fingers. Her room had remained untouched. A small smattering of blood decorated one wall, and other disturbances were evidence of her madness of yesterday. The other side of the bed was cold and the bedclothes smooth, so her… _husband _had not slept with her.

She was a coward. It was obvious she would have to leave her room at some point, but Erik had always promised this would be her sanctuary, a place for her to do as she wished.

_Except die. _

Such morbid thoughts were not Christian, she knew, and her father would have been horrified if he knew.

_Oh Papa._

Whenever possible, her father had taken her to Sunday Mass, both for the service and also for the music. When the pipe organ filled the stone walls of whatever church, cathedral, or chapel they happened upon, her soul had risen to meet the notes as they echoed in the hallowed halls.

Erik could not possibly be her husband. There had been no vows, no sacraments, and most certainly no priest. He claimed to love her, to desire her, and yet when faced with her own wishes and desire he continually spurned her in fits of rage. That was not love. Love was the simple touches and conversations with her Raoul, whose smile set butterflies aflutter within her, and promises to love and cherish her were obvious to behold.

As such, she would preserve her modesty. In his mind she was his wife, but they were not married by the church and therefore she could not possibly allow any untoward attentions. If only she fully understood what such attentions were. There was desperation in Erik as he clutched at her, which could not possibly be how love was intended. Though love him she did not, she did not hate him. _Could _not hate him.

When he was not in one of his rages—was her Maestro and companion—she could lose herself to whatever magical art he bestowed upon her. His sadness was the worst of all. How could one be cruel enough to hate that which lies at ones feet, begging and pleading for affection and forgiveness?

She did not know which Erik she would face when she left her bedroom, nor could she immediately tell as she looked upon his seated form, seemingly calm, as he read a book. As soon as his piercing yellow eyes rose to meet her arrival she wanted to retreat back to her room.

"Ah, she awakens! Is Erik's little wife hungry?" Erik's continued use of his detached mode of speech was enough to warn her of the dangerous ground she was treading. She had wanted to inform him of her continued status as _mademoiselle, _but at the cautionary glare she received at her lack of response, her timidity overcame her.

"I would very much like breakfast… Erik." The humorless laugh which burst from his malformed lips startled her into retreating slightly away from him, which earned her yet another glare.

"If you had cared for breakfast, my dear, Erik suggests you awaken much earlier than this. Dinner time is a more apt description." For a moment as he continued to stare at her from his motionless pose, she was afraid he would starve her in his anger. With one more calculating perusal of her from head to toe, he practically glided from the room into the small area which served as a kitchen.

Christine cautiously followed him, partially for she was afraid to upset him further by retreating to her room, but more pressing was the morose voice in her mind reminding her of his inhibitions in drugging her the night before. Nothing suggested he would be more reticent in the future.

Before she had even made it into kitchen, Erik was already pouring a deep Merlot into the glass by a place setting full of bread and cheeses. He poured himself a glass as well before sitting down in the chair across from the one she sank into. Suddenly ravenous from lack of nourishment the past days, Christine devoured most of her sustenance before slowing when she met Erik's look.

"I… thank you for the food." Christine was rather proud that her voice only slightly wavered at the beginning, not nearly as uncertain and afraid as she felt.

"Did Erik's wife truly believe he would deny her proper nourishment?" Though Erik had replaced his mask at some point while she slept, Christine could clearly see the horror and disgust shining in his eyes. "I will always care for you, my Christine."

Slightly ashamed of her presumption, Christine began fiddling with the remaining morsels which littered her plate. Refusing to meet his eye, hoping to never have to bear witness to such conflicting emotions again, she wondered how long she was expected to remain at the table before she could escape to her room where she could wallow in peace. How could he make her feel so guilty? He had bound her, the testament being the bruises which encircled her wrists, and to Raoul he had…

Horror. Hot, angry tears blurred her vision as self reproach consumed her. She had taken food from this… _monster_ and had not even dared consider what had befallen her beloved…

"Christine."

She could not bear the sound of her name in such a questioning manner, not when Raoul could have perished on the other side of the stone wall, already fading into similar disintegrating flesh as her father.

She gasped as Erik slid her chair so that he knelt before her. She had not heard his approach, nor was she prepared for the slender fingers to slowly advance to her cheek. Her name was no louder than a breeze as he breathed each syllable with such reverence it left her frightened.

"So beautiful…" He stiffened slightly and withdrew his hand. "Are you no longer hungry?"

"I… I am afraid I have lost my appetite." She could not look at him as she warred within herself. Did she dare ask him of the happenings of last night?

Erik rose so swiftly she cringed into the mahogany dining chair, wishing it could swallow her whole so she would not have to face whatever new emotion he chose to throw at her.

"Is it because Erik touched you? Does he repulse you so? Or is this some new way for Christine to leave Erik, she will _starve _herself. Well Erik will not allow it! He will provide for his Christine, his _wife,_ and she shall never, _never _leave him!"

Where the sudden burst of courage originated, Christine could not imagine, but she found herself standing a scant few inches away from Erik's heaving chest as she met his gaze with a furious one of her own.

"It is because I cannot bear the thought of consuming food prepared by the hands that murdered Raoul!"

Erik was quiet. Too quiet. When her ill advised outburst ended, the realization of just how far she had erred left her reeling back.

Erik hissed. Erik grabbed. Her already tender wrists protested his touch even more so than her conscience dictated. What were once tears begotten by anger, they now flowed freely from fear—fear of his ire, and fear that he would hurt her further.

"You shall _never _mention that boy's name again." This sentiment was punctuated by him shaking her by her oh so painful wrists—not enough to jar her irrevocably, but enough for her tears to escalate to helpless sobs.

"It would appear I have not given you sufficient evidence of our marriage. Is that what you want? A wedding, a priest to ordain our vows before _God?" _He practically sneered the words. "Christine would not treat her husband this way. So perhaps she does not _think _of him as her husband. For Christine would be a _good wife!"_

And she would. If it meant he would release her, stop hurting her, stop scaring her. She did need a wedding. She needed the concrete evidence of her hopelessness, that a priest himself had given her to this man, for she would not, _could not,_ believe that her choices last night constituted a marriage.

Seemingly unsatisfied with Christine's lack of response, Erik tightened his grip to unbearable measures.

"Please Erik, _please, _I will be a good wife, just _please _stop hurting me!"

Though there was little force behind the motion, when he released her she still fell to the floor, clutching her freshly throbbing wrists protectively.

"Erik would never hurt his Christine," he informed her rather petulantly. "Christine must be mistaken." He looked thoughtful for a moment, and she worried what new accusation he would throw at her. "Erik understands this must be a confusing time for you." His expression smoothed slightly as he took in her crumpled position on the floor. "I forgive your insinuation."

Her continued sobs were obviously not the apology he was expecting from her. When he crouched down in front of her she recoiled, earning her another quelling look, and then he was reaching for her again and she cried out and…

But his grasp was gentle as he cradled her abused wrist in his palm, slowly lifting her sleeve so he could study the flesh itself. She had never heard such a lament. A mix between a sob and a wail, he brought her sensitive skin to his dead lips and kissed it. How she hated it—hated that the cool lips eased some of the persistent pain and made her wish he would hold them longer.

All too soon—or was it not soon enough?—Erik's cries became nothing more than the slight shuddering of his shoulders, and she found herself being lifted. Memories of dark, looming tunnels pervaded her mind, and she was half prepared to be lifted onto Caesar. But no, Erik had taken her back into her little room, with the rumpled bedclothes she had not smoothed before departing, and was placing her carefully against the pillows.

She thought he was leaving her there, but as quickly as he had left, he returned with a small bowl filled with what appeared to be water and a soft white cloth. Ever so tenderly, he rolled up her lace sleeves until they reached her elbow, and began laving her reddened and bruised flesh with more apology than he could voice.

Christine did not know what to think. Although he had been the one to hurt her, hurt _Raoul, _there was a gentle side to him. That was the side she had grown to love throughout her childhood, and what she dearly missed even now. But he had scared her too much, lied to her too many times for her to trust him now. He had proven that her will did not matter, nor did the will of others stronger than her. It was _his _will that mattered.

"My dearest Christine. Such a good girl." Erik had apparently washed her skin sufficiently as he placed them on her night table but took up her hands once again before she had time to move away. She wanted to pull away, honestly she did. But he looked at her so beseechingly, so piteously she remained frozen.

"Erik he did not…. _I _did not intend to hurt you." Oh his eyes, how they burned her very soul! "I will give you a wedding Christine. We shall be bound by a priest, and you shall wear your pretty white dress, and Erik swears—_I _swear, this shall never happen again. Not to my good little wife."

She could not say no. Though she knew nothing of Raoul's fate, nothing of her own, when he was being to gentle, and his eyes pled so, and his apology was so sincere…

Her head bowed, and with tears in her eyes, she could only nod as Erik kissed her hands so very fervently, and with tears glimmering in his nearly colorless eyes, he all but ran from her room with only a quick word of resting her blessed head while he made his preparations. And then he was gone. Alone with naught but freshly bathed wrists, and the quiet of Erik's home pressing around her like a vice, she was left with only one errant thought…

_What had she done? _


	2. Appendix I

Good grief this is long. So just a reminder, if you felt the story was complete with the last chapter, by all means discontinue reading. This is for those of us who like additional "beyond the ending" type stuff that is purely fluffy and… yes.

Also I want to apologize for not giving out snippets last time—I won't let that happen again!

* * *

i

"I wish for Armand to come under my tutelage."

They had just returned from the market—where Christine had not once taken her hand from Erik's arm, much to the awkwardness of selecting items and carrying packages. They had taken the carriage and while frequent trips were made to divest themselves of supplies, Christine felt secure only when she was certain of Erik's presence.

Erik did not seem to mind.

The little boy had been balefully playing in the front garden and informed them that his parents were once more indisposed, and he now did not even have his feline friend to play with.

It had apparently grieved Erik as much as her to leave the dejected boy looking after them as they returned home, but they could not rightly take him without leaving word to his parents.

Her own instincts as a mother reproved such thoughts.

She remembered Erik's final pronouncement the night before, though it was through the haze of satiation and sleep which meant she had not exactly been prepared to think of the particulars of such a scheme. Christine did chuckle however that he would repeat the statement so exactly. Had he been rehearsing his argument in fear she would have retracted her consent overnight?

"You will have to ask his parents, Erik. I am sure Armand has no idea what studying means."

Erik looked contemptuous at the prospect. "They are too consumed with each other to realize how neglected he is. It should be up to _him _to decide if he wishes to learn."

Christine placed a placating hand on his arm. "And I am sure it will be, but you still need to ask permission of his parents. They have to know where he is."

She did not ask him to consider what it would be like to have Catherine suddenly disappear to study with an unknown person. The thought was too painful to even consider.

"Very well, perhaps they are _finished _now." It was true, it had taken at least half an hour to unload the carriage and place the items in their prospective locations throughout the kitchen. Surely that was enough time for a midday interlude.

They were proven correct when upon walking to their neighbor's home, Marie was collecting Armand from his place at the front stoop. "_Bon jour, _Erik and Christine!"

Erik was not nearly as pleasant, neither in his greeting nor in his request for audience with her and her husband. Christine tried to muster up the politeness necessary, but the face of the sad little boy haunted her, and she could only dimly smile at Marie.

"Of course! And you shall be able to meet Jacques!" Christine was not entirely sure she wanted to meet the man knowing what the couple had been up to not an hour ago.

But Marie was beckoning them enter, so it was with her _normal _husband, Christine and Erik went to meet the man who had left his family for so long a time.

He was not dressed for company, but at least he _was _fully clothed. Jacques rose upon seeing they had company, and his smile was easy and his eyes warm. There was something slightly boyish about him, though it was quite apparent he was even older than Marie.

His wife beamed at him when she approached. "This is my friend Christine and her husband, Erik! They asked to speak to us."

Jacques extended a hand to Erik, who did little hide his exasperation with the man, and then both he and Christine sat when requested by their hosts.

"What's on your mind?"

Christine though him quite an informal fellow, and though perhaps it was rather wretched of her, she could understand why he retired so early from the military—surely they did not appreciate such a lack of decorum!

When wearing this particular mask, Erik always had attempted to quell his intimidating nature, but as he sat in the homey little parlor, he looked an imposing figure indeed. "I would like to offer your son an education. He appears quite bored with the stimulation he finds at home, and it would be a pity to waste his intellect."

So much for tact.

She had expected them to eject them from their home for such insinuation of neglect, but instead Marie let out a sound of relief. "You would tutor him?"

Erik looked slightly taken aback at their ease of acquiescence, but confirmed his intention. "If he proves capable of learning, yes."

Jacques shifted slightly in his chair, looking uncomfortable. "How much would you charge?"

The disgust was plain on Erik's face, mask or no. "I do not offer this in hope of fiscal gain. He deserves to be taught."

The boy in question was seated near Christine, and his eyes flickered from his adult friends to his parents every so often, quite obviously confused by their conversation. "I would get to go to your house?"

Christine turned to him. "Yes, Armand, a few days a week I should think. You would be studying with Monsieur Erik."

The boy looked unconvinced. "And you and Cat?"

Christine was not certain if he was referring to their actual feline or to her daughter. And not for the first time did she curse Erik's chosen endearment. "Yes, we would all be there." Surely that was general enough to encompass whoever he meant to refer.

"I want to go, Mama!" It did not go unnoticed he did not tell his father of his desires. Apparently the boy was not again used to his male parental figure.

It troubled Christine greatly how quickly they agreed to Armand making the trek to the little yellow cottage three mornings a week. She told herself they were willing to sacrifice for his education, but the glances between the couple told her they had more selfish reasoning.

At what point was Armand to rebuild the bonds with his father?

When they prepared to leave as Catherine was beginning to fuss, Marie pulled Christine to the side. "Do you think you might take him this afternoon?" At Christine's incredulous look, she hastened to explain. "This morning would have been his first day anyway, and wouldn't it be best to start when he's so enthused?"

Armand was standing by Erik, and it struck her how small he looked next to her husband's impressive height. How could she deny the pleading eyes partially hidden behind the shaggy hair? "Of course."

She should have known Erik would have heard her agreement, and for that matter Marie's question as well, and upon hearing her answer he left, a trailing Armand behind him. "What am I to learn first?"

Erik looked down at his shadow. "You shall learn how to properly tune a piano."

Christine doubted Armand had any idea what a piano was, let alone why it required tuning, but he nodded happily all the same.

"Come along, Christine, do not dawdle. It sets a bad example."

What a cheeky husband she had.

She gave her goodbyes and hurried after her teasing husband, feeling a definite lurch in her heart when she watched Armand pull bits of foliage from the side of the lane and looked at Erik expectantly for identification.

So far he knew each plant, much to the boy's delight.

Being so caught up with new motherhood, she had given hardly any thought to providing Erik a son, but watching the two together seemed entirely natural.

Erik would prove an excellent father, no matter their gender.

There was something oddly comforting in the thought.

Soon Erik slowed his pace to allow for her to catch up, and he took Catherine in one arm as he took her hand in the other.

"This was kind of you, Erik."

He hummed noncommittally. "That has yet to be proven. I cannot wear this mask so often, and he shall have to become accustomed to seeing my more comfortable creations. They may frighten him."

Armand was a good fifteen paces ahead of them, curiously peering at some unknown diversion with rapt attention.

"He did not seem to mind yesterday." The casual statement as to Erik's curious accessory surprised even her, and she dearly hoped he could maintain such an attitude. It was most likely that test which made Erik comfortable enough to offer his services in the first place, and they would most likely be just as quickly rescinded should he face too many questions regarding his appearance.

"Perhaps you should explain it to him."

Erik stopped abruptly and looked at her in horror. "_Why _would you think that the proper solution? That would most assuredly frighten him!"

"Not _show _him you silly man! Merely explain your reasoning for wearing it in the first place. He shall only be frightened if you make him so!" She did not add that she spoke from experience. The mask was disconcerting—and one most certainly wondered what lay beneath—but it was Erik's emotions tied to it that proved far more terrifying than his actual visage.

Hopefully that had changed.

But even though she had not mentioned it, he still looked guilty for his past wrongs. "I shall consider it." And when she felt a kiss pressed atop her head, she knew it was in apology.

"You must know I have forgiven you."

The way he pressed her a little further into his side told her he was not at all accepting of such knowledge. "Oh Erik."

He shook his head resolutely, and she saw his eyes turn to the little boy now beside them. "We may discuss it later."

She was amazed he did not openly reject the idea of talking about it _at all. _

He was listening to her.

And she was quite happy to continue their pleasant walk home, which did not take nearly so long as she would have liked.

Armand chattered agreeably, and Erik would dryly comment on whatever he had to say, to which the boy would simply crookedly grin and continue to prattle.

His favorite topic seemed to center around the baby.

At least that had been the case until the tall gates issuing them into their home appeared.

"We're going in there?" For the first time since he had set out on this adventure with Erik and Christine, Armand sounded frightened. "Mama says it is haunted."

As Erik's arms were occupied with a suddenly dissatisfied Catherine, so it was left to Christine to see to the reluctant boy. "Armand, I have lived here for over a month now, and I can assure you, I have never once seen a ghost."

Armand looked to her as though she was missing something quite obvious. "But you don't _see _ghosts, Madam Christine!"

Of course not.

For that would make this simple.

Thankfully Erik once more exerted his innate ability to handle children's fears far better than Christine could ever hope to emulate. Kneeling before the boy, not caring that some of the dust from the lane would surely cling to his trousers, he held up Cat as evidence. "Do you think I would ever let something happen to this little _enfant? _Or her mama?"

The little boy slowly shook his head.

"And I shall extend the same courtesy to you as well. I have had much experience with ghosts, and much like doors, they listen to Monsieur Erik's whims. You shall be safe here."

Armand looked at him for a long moment, obviously judging his sincerity before he put his small hand in Christine's and waited for Erik to open the gate and lead them to the house.

Erik was after all the master of such objects, and the gate opened seemingly by the wave of his hand.

Once inside, the boy seemed to regain some of his enthusiasm, but there was still a level of caution to his actions, and he had yet to leave Erik's side—though he did eventually release Christine's hand in favor of pinching a bit of Erik's coat between his fingers.

Christine was reminded of how she would do similarly in the beginning of their marriage—never actually touching him, but still looking to him for protection and comfort.

Sometimes it was beneficial to be cared for by one so intimidating that even ghosts would heed his warnings.

She had thought Erik would take them straight into the house if it was in fact simply the open garden that made the boy feel unsafe, but instead he led them past it into the small stable.

Christine had only been there a handful of times, and never stayed long. She had spent more time with horses since her marriage than ever before, and she was still wary of them when she did not have Erik's comforting presence behind her.

They were large, unpredictable, and she had absolutely no notion of what she was to be doing in their presence.

Perhaps it would be beneficial for Erik to properly teach her to ride. Surely Catherine would need lessons at some point—though her motherly instincts protested the idea viciously.

Armand however looked at the brown mare in awe. "Is it a girl? You have a lot of girls so I bet she's a girl. What's her name? Can I ride her?"

Erik chuckled at his enthusiasm. "She is indeed a mare, and I am afraid she does not yet possess a name. Madam Christine was going to have that honor."

Christine blinked in surprise. Her? Why on earth would _she _name the horse?

Though Erik was seemingly talking to Armand, his gaze never wavered from hers. "You see, when we found _félin _Christine, I was the one to bestow the name. And so it happened again with Cat. Do you not agree she deserves the opportunity?"

By no means was it of the same significance as naming their child, but Christine understood the sentiments far more than the actual offering.

He was being considerate and presenting amends for his hasty actions.

Christine smiled at him and silently mouthed a 'thank you'.

"But I do not know what a horse likes to be called! What do you think?"

Erik rolled his eyes at her enquiry. "Our assistance would entirely defeat the object. Surely you can think of something."

But her mind was entirely blank. It seemed rather silly to select one of the names she had compounded when pregnant with Catherine, as what if she became with child again? She would not at all appreciate the notion she had wasted the perfect name on a horse.

So when Armand piped up, she was quite grateful for his suggestion. "I would name her _Fille." _

Erik turned to the boy and looked at him incredulously. "You would name the horse, Girl?"

Jutting out his chin at the questioning of his name of choice, he responded with a mixture of pride and hurt for Erik's displeasure. "She _is _a girl. And I think she likes the name!"

It was true that the horse had nickered when Armand had said it, and Christine chuckled at his defense of the name. "Well I think it is a fine selection. _Fille _it shall be."

Erik sighed and looked rather bemused that Christine had not picked the name entirely on her own, but she kissed his covered cheek softly and whispered in his ear. "Thank you for allowing me to name her."

Before Erik could respond, Christine was distracted by Armand pressing himself against her in a little boy's semblance of a hug. "You listened to me!"

Her heart nearly broke the way he beamed at her for such a little thing.

She stroked his shaggy hair for a moment before Erik cleared his throat and ushered them back toward the house. "Perhaps you would be good enough to make tea while I begin to show Armand how one properly handles a piano."

It was a rarity that Erik would request tea, but the way he watched her interact with the little neighbor boy made her think there was something more than a desire for the steaming liquid.

There was not jealousy but perhaps… sadness?

He saw himself in the boy just as she did.

But unlike him, there was someone to look after him.

So when Christine and Catherine retired to the kitchen, she knew she would do something special for Erik to solidify once more _he _was the most important man to her.

But unlike the times he had felt so insecure in the past, she did not feel the pressure of subduing his madness with her choice.

She was doing it to simply show her love.

Grateful for the groceries they had procured, she settled on making the scones he had enjoyed so much the last time she had felt the urge to bake.

For Armand she warmed one of the leftover muffins from breakfast—and she sincerely hoped Erik would realize her efforts were to cater to his more savory palate.

She was even more grateful for the bassinet Erik had placed in the kitchen which allowed Catherine to be satisfied while she baked.

Soon she began to hear the steady tones of Erik hammering the strings, making minor adjustments to ensure the richest and most accurate of sounds.

She also heard the joyous laughter of Armand who was apparently quite pleased with the results.

Before long she had the scones prepared, and for herself she placed preserves also upon the tea tray as well as the other fixings to make their small tea all the more desirable.

She deposited the tray in the study—their usual room of choice for afternoon delights—and when she went next door her heart swelled at the sight before her.

Erik had removed his jacket and rolled up his crisp white shirt and his yellowy forearms were clearly visible as they maneuvered the strings of the grand piano. Armand was peering over the open lid, enraptured by each of his tutor's movements.

"Time for tea, gentlemen. Put away your toys and let us eat."

But when Armand turned to her, his excitement rapidly turned to horror. "Where is Cat?"

Erik's own eyes jerked sharply to her form, and Christine rolled her eyes at the both of them. "I could not very well carry the tea tray _and _Catherine, so she is waiting patiently in the kitchen." At least she _hoped _Catherine was still relatively satisfied with the arrangement, and by the lack of wails heard from across the cottage, she felt it a safe enough assumption.

"Now, I would ask you both wash your hands before joining me in the study, where both Catherine and I shall be waiting for you." Her eyes flitted her husband, imploring him to understand she was _not _in fact ordering him to wash, but was simply hoping he would ensure the little boy next to him saw to his slightly grimy hands before sitting down to eat.

The last thing she wished was to offend him.

Much to her relief, Erik merely sighed dramatically and ushered the still wary Armand to the powder room to find a basin to wash the foliage from his small hands.

Christine smiled as they passed and kissed Erik pleasantly.

He harrumphed in response.

Catherine had suddenly found her thumb remarkably entertaining as she suckled and twirled it, so chuckling, Christine removed her from her cushioned throne and took her into the study to pour the tea and begin cutting into her own steaming scone.

She wondered if her daughter would take after her own affinity for sweetness or perhaps was more inclined toward her father's tastes. It would be quite lonesome to be in a house with only savory eaters—though she steadfastly refused to give up the teaspoon of sugar in her tea, no matter the opinion of her husband and child.

It was not long before Armand scampered into the study, and though his eyes grew wide at his muffin and teacup, he was soon distracted by the feline perched upon the desk. "_Bleu!"_

Apparently he had forgotten that such was _not _in fact her name.

If the cat was at all concerned by the small hands suddenly running through her fur, she gave little evidence of it much to Christine's relief. It would be a pity to return the boy home with tiny slices covering his arms and hands.

"What is this?"

Erik was rolling down his shirt sleeves in an attempt to smooth his appearance, and Christine nearly asked him to refrain from doing so as she quite liked seeing the sinewy muscles flex as he moved.

But alas they soon disappeared and so she found herself describing her choice in accoutrement. "Apparently my husband's sweetness is taken up in his manner, so I thought you would prefer a plain scone. Armand is being blessed with a muffin."

His eyes searched her for a moment, and when his fingertips skimmed her cheek, and he whispered a quiet "Thank you," in her ear, she knew that he understood she was providing an offering solely to him.

And Armand did not at all seem to mind.

"So how is the piano coming along?"

The boy was attempting to mimic Erik's impeccable posture as he sat across from the couple, though he only managed to hold the tea cup with two hands—a tea cup prepared the same way as Christine's own cup, much to Erik's chagrin.

"Monsieur Erik says it is finished and if I am good and don't look when he's asking you, maybe you'll sing for me!"

Christine scowled at her husband who was looking quite innocently down at his scone. "Pray tell, why is it important he not look, husband?"

Erik blinked at her placidly. "I can assure you, I have no idea where he got such a notion."

He had the audacity to then look to Armand who looked back at him sheepishly. "Sorry, sir, I did not mean to get you in trouble."

"Your second lesson then shall be that what we study together _remains _between the two of us. Madam Christine need not know of it."

"I beg your pardon, should Catherine and I depart and leave you two gentlemen alone? I should hate to intrude in my own home." She glared at both of them. "I thought you wanted me to sing."

Erik's eyes finally seemed to hold a glimmer of remorse, and he leaned to whisper in her ear. "That I do, my Christine, and I had far pleasanter ways of coaxing you into doing so until my plans were utterly spoiled by a loud mouthed little boy."

Christine blushed.

"Then perhaps you may utilize such methods when we are once more alone."

Erik grinned at her rather wickedly, but returned to his tea and scone.

And so it happened Christine was persuaded to reinstate her lessons, this time only under the pretence of teaching _Armand _the proper musical forms.

What a sneaky husband she had.

-X-

Christine was feeling restless.

Autumn was steadfastly giving into the temptations of winter, and with it came the looming presence of _Christmas. _She harbored no such delusions as to trees and decorations, but in three days time it was to be Christmas Eve, and she dearly wished for Catherine and their little family to christen their first blessed event with a service.

But she had not the courage to ask Erik.

Marie brought it up frequently, as she had begun to note that Erik and Christine were not in attendance of the Sunday services and her own attendance had begun to regulate now that Jacques had returned home. "But surely you must attend Christmas Eve! Even the most loose of faith acknowledge that day deserves the reverence."

"I can assure you, my faith would quite happily move me to attend each week, but Erik is against the practice." And she understood, _truly _she did.

She had brought it up to him before and he had calmly informed her he was not against the principle of weekly service, but it remained impossible to wear his mask so frequently as what such an arrangement would require.

And truthfully, she was beginning to grow frustrated with how often he was wearing the object as it was.

Armand had been coming to their cottage for almost a month now, and for the three hour sessions he remained locked away in Erik's study, her husband had resolutely maintained the use of his more _normal _mask—to the detriment of his delicate flesh beneath.

She had pled with him that he not torment himself with the façade—that he simply _explain _his ailment to the boy—but as of yet he was convinced that Armand required more time to grow in respect for his teacher before he was exposed to his more comfortable masks.

So as it stood, Christmas Eve service seemed entirely out of the question.

That did not however stop them from going to the shops in search of gifts for one another.

She had made the mistake of assuming Erik would be unfamiliar with the prospect of gift giving, and when she began explaining to him he rolled his eyes and looked at her quite indulgently. "Christine, do you believe I am an uneducated man?"

Looking quite sheepish, she muttered, "Not at all."

"Then I can put your mind at ease that you shall awake to presents on Christmas morning. As will our daughter."

She wanted to inform him that Catherine would never remember anything she received at such a young age—that presents for _him _would be far more important—but when she considered the stance, she realized that it was in fact important to him that he provide gifts for his daughter.

As any other father would.

So properly chastised, she remained silent.

When the time came for their shopping trip in town, Christine did however find it very difficult to determine how she was to go about procuring his gift. When she had determined it necessary for him to be given a wedding ring, she had given up the prospect of surprise and simply took him into the shop with her.

Such would not be the case now.

But she was not feeling quite so strong as to face the shops alone, and Erik had made it perfectly clear that no trinket was worth her safety.

Therefore, his gift could not be purchased.

For all his formality, Erik was an intensely sentimental husband, and it was more than likely he would appreciate something made by her own hand far more than a store bought ornament in any case.

She suddenly felt intense regret at not spending more time in the Opera's costuming rooms where she might have fostered more useful gifting skills.

So as it stood, she was currently perfecting the only thing she possessed that Erik seemed to value so completely.

Other than her body of course.

A week had not been long to properly retrain her voice into the ethereal quality Erik had finely crafted—and in truth she knew it did not remotely compare.

While they had restarted her lessons—Erik having been overjoyed that Catherine seemed to approve the instrument as well as her mother's singing—she was not able to focus as intensely on the subject as he would have liked. Meals had to be prepared, both for herself and for Catherine, as well as escorting Armand home from his own lessons as Christine did not at all approve of him walking along the icy lane by himself.

But she was determined to spend the week before Christmas embracing the methods her husband had employed when coaxing her voice to its fullest abilities.

She was out of practice with her breathing exercises, but she happily noted that due to no longer relying upon corsetry for support, her stomach muscles still proved strong even after housing Catherine for all those months.

And surely Erik would appreciate the effort she was exerting in pleasing him.

The most difficult thing proved to be cutting sugary delights from her diet without Erik's notice. Her beloved tea was terribly bitter without its traditional teaspoon of sweetness, but she dutifully sipped it so as to not arouse his suspicions.

Finding space to practice was surprisingly simple.

Erik had taken to disappearing a few hours every afternoon, never telling her precisely where he was venturing. But the way his eyes begged her not to inquire made her quite happily kiss him on the cheek and wish him a pleasant journey—though not before ensuring he would be home for dinner.

And so she found herself and Catherine in Erik's music room finding it very odd indeed that she should be singing without her husband.

She had chosen a piece from his collection of compositions dedicated to their daughter, and she was grateful for the few hours he had left her alone as he tended to private _business. _

Christine was almost positive he would notice some small difference in the piano as she fumbled through the piece, but if he did, he made no mention of it.

For which was eternally grateful, for she very much doubted she possessed the ability to lie to him convincingly.

It was impossible for her to attain the highest notes that she once reached with such ease, but she felt confident if she could infuse enough emotion in to the lower range, Erik would be satisfied with her performance.

And so it was on Christmas morning, Christine intended to bring Erik in so she may remind him of how they had first become acquainted.

Things however did not go exactly as she had designed.

On the eve before Christmas, just as Christine was clearing the dinner plates away, Erik appeared with a _very _large box in hand. "I believe it is sometimes customary to give a gift the night before, but I suppose that might be simply for the appeasement of naughty children."

Perhaps such a description was not particularly flattering when given to a wife, but at her widened eyes and ever growing smile, she would happily accept it.

Erik chuckled as her greedy hands grasped the package, and it was a momentary pang of regret that she had only her one gift to bestow on her generous husband, but she quickly stifled such feelings. Erik wanted her to be happy—not lamenting over how few presents she had for him.

She gasped when she lifted the lid.

Christine was reminded of the gown she had worn when first she desired his touch, as it was made of the finest velvet and was equally as soft as the last. But instead of the color of champagne, this gown was a winter white that shimmered in the candlelight.

"Oh Erik, it is beautiful!"

As soon as she had spoken, Erik expelled a breath and for the first time she realized he was nervous of her reaction.

Silly man. What wife would refuse such a gift?

"You will wear it then?" He was looking at her expectantly, and she began to understand there was more to his gift than the dress itself.

"Of course!" When she removed the dress, another amazed breath escaped her lips when the matching cloak appeared as well. She wanted to bolt to the bedroom so she could fully experience the luxurious fabric, but she found herself to wait and go to Erik's side. "Thank you, Erik, they are perfect."

He touched her cheek softly. "Only perfection for my Christine." Erik smiled with his withered lips and Christine was hard pressed to find something that brought her more joy. "Now go change, wife, or we shall be late."

She required no further persuasion.

If possible, the gown felt more lavish _on _than when she had touched it in the box. It was of a similar line as her other dresses, but it was tailored to her current measurements perfectly. The sleeves went to her elbows, and with her new cloak and a pair of gloves she found herself quite prepared to face the winter weather as they travelled to Erik's undisclosed location.

After she had tided her hair in the powder room, Erik had quite adeptly dressed Catherine in her own warm clothing, and had also prepared the carriage in an equally speedy manner.

It was too cold to force their poor little _enfant _to sit next to her father, so rather reluctantly Christine prepared for their separation as Erik drove.

That was until the gardener appeared from the stables. "Are you ready, monsieur?"

Christine looked at Erik confusedly, but obeyed when he gestured for her to enter the tight confines of their small covered carriage, and she found herself delighted when he followed behind her. "But who shall drive?"

He gave her his customary reproach when she doubted his methods, which looked far more like an imperious glare than an actual reprimand. "Maurice of course. But we have one small stop to make first." Erik looked rather apologetic for a moment. "He would not agree to drive unless his wife was allowed to come as well."

Christine had yet to meet the woman, and though Erik seemed worried she would be displeased with the interruption, she was in reality quite pleased to finally be able to thank the woman who prepared some of their meals when she was unable.

Erik tucked a blanket around her, and when he made to sit across from her she quickly gave him a glare. "You are cold too. Come sit with us."

He merely rolled his eyes in response, a gesture Christine could only surmise due to his faintly glowing orbs, but she happily accepted his sarcasm when he came beside her.

He would not however permit her to leave the carriage when Maurice made to retrieve his wife, but when she protested, he assured her she would have the opportunity to greet the woman later—at the illusive location she was sure.

The rest of the drive was extremely pleasant as Erik murmured lovely things in her ear as she rested in his arms and he petted her hair. She wondered if such gestures would ever become commonplace as she still felt the same welling of contentment and want of _more _that she always did at such affections.

She wondered if he felt similarly.

And for the first time, she felt like she could _ask. _"What do you think of in moments like these?"

His hand stilled as he considered her enquiry, but after a slight pause his soft voice resumed in her ear. "That you and our daughter are far more than I deserve. That I love the feel of your curls running through my fingers enough that I am not at all sorry to remove my gloves even though it is cold. I think that even though you look like an angel in your gown, I would much rather see you without it." Erik's voice had grown so low she was forced to nearly strain in anticipation of hearing his final words. "But most of all, I think of how much I adore you."

Christine could not imagine a better Christmas gift than his words alone.

She snuggled further into his side and he pressed his lips to her temple. "Was that answer satisfactory, wife?"

Though she told herself with was simply the cold, she sniffled all the same. "Perfectly satisfactory, husband. I find myself feeling the same."

He hummed in response, and busied himself once ore with her hair as the tiny carriage continued its way to the unknown spot.

So comfortable was she that when it came to a stop, Christine very nearly requested for them to continue on so she might remain in Erik's embrace.

Until she saw their destination at least.

The little chapel that housed so many lovely memories was bathed entirely in candlelight, and Christine was enraptured by the amount of people within the small structure.

Her darling husband had taken her to Christmas Eve mass.

She had not asked. She had not cajoled or pleaded or even used her feminine wiles in an effort to convince him it was important.

Instead he had taken it upon himself to make it a special evening surprise for her, even providing a gown that properly fit when she had grown so used to the slightly oversized maternity dresses or the too snug versions of previous wares.

It was frivolous and unnecessary, but oh so very much appreciated!

He escorted her to a pew at the back of the chapel, and though the room was warm in the glow of the candles, they were still shadowed enough that their entrance was not noted by many. It did not escape her notice that this was the very same spot she had danced all those weeks ago when awaiting Erik's confession to Father Martin.

She smiled at the memory.

Maurice and his wife shuffled much further into the chapel and settled near apparent friends and for one small moment, Christine was sorry they had no such relations. She could see Marie, Jacques and Armand a slight ways forward, and she wondered if she would ever feel the great companionship with Marie as she had thought would blossom.

But perhaps they were simply too different.

Before she could ponder more on the subject of friendships beyond her little family, Father Martin began the service and the Christmas choir began their hymns and exaltations to the season. It was a compilation of simple country folk, and while she knew Erik would find it terribly dull and wanting in technique, she found it absolutely delightful.

Catherine however mimicked her father's scowl, but Christine steadfastly ignored them both.

She was distressed when Erik passed their little _enfant _into her arms, and she told herself firmly not to jump to the conclusion of his abandonment. He seemed to sense her struggle however and bent quickly to place a kiss upon her cheek and slid silently from their pew before he disappeared.

Silence had befallen the congregation as well as the service except for the scattered coughs of those with winter chills who still braved the cold for the blessing of the church.

But suddenly the air was pervaded by something far sweeter than anything it had been shown before.

Erik was _playing._

It was not one of his compositions, but it was without a doubt one of the most beautiful things she had ever heard—that _any _of them had heard. Haunting in its simplicity, and compelling through its tones and his own flares as a violinist, _Cantique de Noël_ left Christine feeling breathless.

_This _was his gift.

He had brought her to their little church amongst all the villagers and the priest who had grown to mean so much to her. He had not mocked the choir for their Christmas cheer, and had not even attempted to shame them through a garish display of his own genius.

Instead he had simply participated to the best of his abilities.

And so it was to a sniffling overjoyed wife that Erik returned. "Now Christine, I cannot play if you insist upon crying whenever I do so."

She grasped his hand tightly in hers as they watched a rather teary Father Martin complete the service. "Then perhaps you should not play so beautifully, Erik."

He looked offended by her suggestion but remained silent.

Christine did not in fact get the honor of meeting Maurice's wife that evening, nor did she wait to greet Marie or Father Martin—though it was Erik who maneuvered her away from that exchange.

But it was just as well, as Christine wanted nothing more than to get her husband _home. _

Home where the dreadful mask that covered too much of his loving features was banished. Home where she could show him through her touch how much his performance had touched her, both in his playing and through the simple act of bringing her here.

And Erik was more than happy to oblige.

He deposited her in the carriage before taking a moment to enquire if Maurice was intending on staying longer with the mingling families, and thankfully for all their sakes it did not take much persuasion that they began the journey homeward.

Christine however was rather despising Erik's strict adherence to no outward displays of affection within Catherine's eye line.

The infant had already long since fallen into slumber, and amongst her cocoon of blanketry there truly was no danger of her witnessing anything untoward or that could mar her delicate sensibilities.

If such a small baby could in fact be considered to _have _sensibilities of that nature.

But his attentions were driving her mad.

For all his insistence they refrain from kissing—aside from the more innocuous of pecks as a proper husband and wife should give—his hands did not seem to be of the same mind.

They were touching her _there. _

She had intended they return home so she could show him _her _gratitude through her own ministrations upon his person, but upon his own entering of the carriage he had settled her alongside his body, and laying Catherine securely in her nest of blankets on his other side, he had begun stroking her side gently.

Until it was no longer her side that was being seen to.

Erik was never one for obscene gestures. It was only after he had prepared her body in terms of optimum arousal that he allowed his hands to drift to her most intimate of spots, but this time—before she had even determined she _wanted _him there—one of his hands cupped her womanly place, allowing one of his fingers to nestle amongst the folds of velvet.

And then he proceeded to place the softest kisses against the back of her neck, and with his free hand he gently pulled the pins from her hair until it once more reached her back.

She never knew how the same gestures that had once been so comforting could now be completely arousing. The sensations of his mouth coupled with the firm pressure against her womanhood led to the familiar tensing of her womb.

Christine tried to contain her moan, honestly she did, and when Erik's scolding voice echoed in her ear that it was imperative she remain silent, the tickling sensation of his breath did little to quell her desire.

He was not coaxing. His hand remained motionless in its unyielding position, and it was _she _who was desperately seeking him to continue with the ministrations she knew he was so fluent in.

"Erik _please, _do not tease me!"

The husband in question had the audacity to look entirely innocent. "Whatever do you mean Christine, I am simply holding you as I did on the journey here. But I do so love the feel of your pretty dress."

And then his fingers were caressing the velvety texture, but not so much the hand that was still playing with her hair and sending tingles down her spine every time his fingers trailed her spine. No, it was the hand that was positioned just _so_ and when she could not longer keep silent at his caresses, his mouth was covering hers until she was breathing heavily; entirely languid in his arms.

She would wear velvet every day if this was to be the outcome.

When they returned home and a groggy Catherine kissed soundly and placed in her room, Erik and Christine continued their Christmas greetings only this time removing the hindrances of clothing.

Erik's mask had been the first to be removed.

For how wonderful the pressure of his fingers against her had felt, there was nothing quite like the shuddering sigh he gave as he filled her, and that sound alone was joy enough for her—though Erik did not seem to be in agreement.

It was well past midnight when they were finally spent, and as they lay in each other's arms, still deliciously entwined, Christine murmured the traditional salutation to the holiday. "Merry Christmas, husband."

He kissed her temple softly in response.

"Though I must say, you put my gift to shame with yours. _Yours _were wonderful."

Erik shifted uncomfortably. "I am quite sure I will be satisfied with whatever you see fit to give me."

She rolled onto his chest so she might look at him fully. "Would you really? Even when it is not perfect?"

His eyes softened, and though she could quite plainly see the notion of her giving him _anything _made him uneasy. His touch on her face was tender and she felt warm even as his cool fingers skimmed her cheek. "It shall be perfect because it came from you, Christine. It need not be anything more than that."

She should have kept it a surprise, but suddenly it did not seem like so wrong it be disclosed. So shyly she confessed her gift. "I learned a song for you. I am afraid I am not nearly as good as when you were helping me, but…" It was difficult to confess how far she had fallen in capabilities. "But I tried."

He pulled her to him quickly, and his lips were fervent on hers. "Then the angels shall weep at your efforts."

Her dearest husband.

"Merry Christmas, Christine." He slid her gently against his side until she was settled comfortably against his chest once more. "I shall awaken you quite early for my present."

She chuckled. "Of course you shall."

-X-

January proved to be one of the coldest months of Christine's remembrance, and February was proving to not be much better. When Armand had arrived for the fifth time shivering and sneezing because of the snow, Christine had requested Marie begin sending extra sets of clothing so he would not be forced to remain in sodden trousers for the entirety of his lessons.

Erik was beginning to complain that the first hour of their day was spent sitting the child before the fire with a cup of hot chocolate in his greedy hands.

He usually quieted when Christine smirked and presented him with his own mug.

Catherine had grown rapidly and she and her father had begun a trick fashioned from one he played with _félin _Christine—seeing how long her eyes would hold the movement of his finger.

Christine greatly protested the game, citing that surely he would cause blindness the way he mesmerized her, but he patiently retorted that their cat had yet to suffer any ill effects, so it was imprudent for her to jump to such conclusions without evidentiary backing.

She still did not approve, scientific support or not.

On this particular February day however, Christine was most preoccupied with lamenting their lack of friends capable of watching Catherine for an evening.

It was not that she wished to leave the infant—_heavens _no. But the notion of an evening alone with Erik—guaranteed to be free of interruption for feedings or diaper changes seemed blissful, tonight of all nights.

For today was their very first anniversary.

She knew there were plenty of other couples who had nannies or even grandparents who would gladly spend the evening with the child, thereby allowing the parents the opportunity to spend their evening in confinement, but Erik and Christine were not such people.

She supposed she could ask Marie, but her heart clenched at the thought. She was too willing to allow Armand to brave the snow for his lessons—too quick to agree for an extra day or two a week if Erik should wish for more extensive studying to be done by the boy.

Christine did not _want _Catherine to be watched in such a place.

The groundskeeper and his wife were the next obvious choice, but Christine very much doubted Erik would agree to the arrangement. When she had first met Maurice's wife, she was surprised how much younger the woman was than her husband—but it occurred to her that she and Erik would eventually face a similar situation—though the other couple did not have nearly their age difference.

She had successfully raised four boys and proved delightful company both in the kitchen and for the occasional tea time visits when Erik sequestered himself in the music room, and Christine was confident that Chloe would care for Catherine impeccably.

Many times she had spoken of how she longed for a daughter of her own.

But Erik surely would not approve given the happenings when he was away from his little family, and he would most likely think her an unfit mother for wishing for some time for them alone.

She would merely have to content herself with the blessed hours when Catherine slept through the night.

There was one thing to be said for their daughter, and it was the amount of time she spent devoted to slumber. Quick to learn the benefits of a full night's sleep—especially when her mother was prompt in providing an early breakfast simply to alleviate the tenderness of full breasts—Catherine determined the doting she received during the day to be highly sufficient and allowed her parents the respite of sleep as well.

But there was always the niggling feeling of doubt as to Catherine's contentment, and that was hardly conducive for romance.

It was a quiet day, and Christine could feel herself becoming more sulky than a proper wife should allow herself. Catherine was fussing more than usual, and it seemed whenever she placed her daughter down her whimpers of abandonment would reemerge.

This was the twelfth of the month, and for just a moment she would like to be alone with her husband.

Erik said not a word about the day, and she spent the better part of it deciding whether it should be mentioned. He was never one for dates so it stood to reason he simply did not_ know _that today was of any significance.

Or he was waiting for her to refer to it—show him that it was of as much meaning to her as it was for him.

It was not terribly late, and she had already put Catherine down for the night when she decided to seek him out.

The gesture was proven unnecessary as when she turned to exit the nursery, his figure loomed in the doorway. "I am afraid, my wife, that you have placed her in error."

Christine was in no mood for such games. She felt tired and alone and wanted nothing more than to return to her bed for a good cry.

Perhaps _that _at least would improve her spirits.

When Erik moved to the bassinet and made to remove Catherine she protested. "No, please do not, Erik. She has been in a temper all day and I would just like her to sleep." The plea for an uninterrupted evening—either for sleep or more pleasurable activities remained unspoken.

But Erik did not heed her and it was rapidly becoming clear she was in no such mood for any sort of celebration.

She was about to abandon them both in favor of her bed when Erik's hand gripped her wrist gently. "Christine, _please._"

And she could deny him nothing, so she waited.

It was only when he passed by her that she noted his heavy cloak, as well as the large blanket he was carefully wrapping around his pouting daughter.

Were they going somewhere?

But he had procured no cloak for her and informed her of no such plans, so she quickly stifled the growing feeling of excitement.

"Say goodnight to Catherine, my love. She will not be joining us until the morning." He was looking at her beseechingly, and it was quite plain he desired her compliance and good will.

And the smile that was threatening to erupt certainly belayed her acceptance. "She is going to Chloe and Maurice's?"

He stopped on his way to the exit. "If you have no objections."

She shook her head emphatically. "None."

Erik nodded and had almost exited into the chilly night air when he paused. "Perhaps you would like to change into something more comfortable, and then be so good as to wait for me in the music room."

Then he was gone.

Any irritation she had felt building throughout the day easily gave way to the excitement of her husband's nightly plan, and so she hurried to her bedroom in search of more _comfortable _attire.

His request that she wait in the music room instead of their bed suggested he had something to show her of the more musical variety before giving way to their more visceral appreciations, so perhaps something not _too _revealing was in order.

Or perhaps not.

Nothing in her drawer of chemises and nightdresses seemed special enough for the occasion of celebrating their first year of marriage, and she found her eyes landing upon the trunk from so long ago. After finding Erik's compilation of works hidden inside, she had determined it would be preferable to wait for him to show her what things were important to him—what things he deemed necessary to save instead of repurchase.

And perhaps one of those items was nightly attire for her.

It was on the bottom of the trunk, though she tried desperately not to look at the other items held within. This was not the time for distraction—it was the time for preparation.

She nearly cried at the lacy garment.

The nightgown was entirely foreign to her and she wondered why he had not shown it to her before.

But perhaps that was not such a difficult thing to decipher after all.

It was the same lace as her wedding gown, and was quite clearly made by the same expert hands who had created the respectable counterpart.

The one that had been so viciously destroyed.

How could he give this to her when surely it would have only caused her pain?

Except that now, as her hands drifted tentatively over the delicate details that mimicked her wedding gown, she wanted nothing more than to slip it over her head and await her husband.

Conceivably she should have felt the murmuring of horrors past—either from her memories of the actual night of her wedding, or that the man she had not yet loved would have prepared a nightgown of such beauty in anticipation of their consummation.

But she only felt sadness at her poor, unhappy husband. She knew that everything they had endured before they had achieved their contentment was necessary, but she still felt sorrow for denying him what he so deserved.

Dwelling on the past would do little however, and as she slipped the gossamer material over her head and brushed out her curls, she was determined to remind him how much he meant to her.

And how much she appreciated a few stolen moments for just the two of them.

She contemplated a dressing gown, but found that she disliked each of them with her new nightdress, and that each detracted from the fragile material. But it _was _terribly cold, though she did not fear that Erik would tarry long in _warming _her.

He did not disappoint.

Garbed in her wedding nightgown and warm shawl that was easily divested, she was seated upon the piano bench when he entered, and it thrilled her that his mask and cloak were already quickly being removed in favor of his more approachable self.

"Such an obedient wife I have."

She was _not _an obedient wife. She was simply one who knew when listening behooved her, and the teasing glint in his eye told her that he was well aware of her natural tendencies.

There had been a pause between the opening of the front door and his appearance in the music room, and while she had chastised herself for her inclination to call out to hurry his approach, she bade herself be patient in allowing him to come to her in his own time.

And it was well worth the wait.

It was true, he had used the time to remove his more intimidating exterior, but he had also somehow procured a most delightful chocolate concoction, with mounds of whipped cream oozing onto the plate.

She did not have to inquire if it was for her.

The dessert practically called to her, and she was helpless to resist the pull she felt to rise from the bench and go to her husband—to the _cake. _

Erik only chuckled in response, and led her to the toile chair he had permitted enter the sanctuary of the music room. "Alright, sit my Christine and listen to what your husband has made for you."

Christine would have gladly sat in the snow if it meant he would allow her access to this special dessert, so she eagerly accepted the seat.

And though by no means did she doubt his abilities as a composer, she highly doubted anything would distract her from the sinful decadence of her chocolaty delight.

She had never been so wrong.

The pure sound of the piano was something she was still not entirely used to—especially not when she had been raised to the sounds of orchestra and pipe organ for accompaniment.

But as Erik began to play, she found the simplicity only lent further reverence to the sound, and it was one she had not heard in very nearly a year.

It was the fourth movement of his original composition of their marriage.

The one when he had sworn to her their happiness could be tangible once they were fully joined as husband and wife.

But only when she allowed it.

He had told her she would understand it then—that it would be a reflection of their lives together and the happiness they shared, and as she listened, still with the sweet taste of chocolate upon her lips, she understood it fully.

For it _was _their life.

And it was beautiful.

By the time he had finished playing and was looking to her for acknowledgement of her understanding, Christine had already placed the forgotten treat upon the side table and dropped her shawl unceremoniously upon the floor.

She only hoped _he _remembered what her gown signified.

His breath caught as he beheld her, and she could clearly see his fingers twitch as they longed to feel her.

"Dance with your husband, Christine."

He looked frightened even as he asked, but rose all the same, drawing her into his arms as he did so. For all his critiquing of the ballet girls for performance and accuracy, he had never had the opportunity to learn himself.

This was their first dance as husband and wife.

"We have no music."

They was no steps other than the gentle swaying of their bodies as he held her close, and his head rested against the top of hers. "Are you certain?"

The melody he had played still echoed in her mind, but as her head rested upon his chest, the steady beating of his heart made the perfect accompaniment to their dance.

"Perhaps we should continue this in our bed."

And who was she to deny her husband on their anniversary?

There was nothing hurried in their movements as she gently took his hand and led him up the stairs to their bedroom, and she made no protest when Erik began shedding his own garments more rapidly in an effort to begin the appreciation of _her _clothing.

It was not the first time she cursed his many buttons, nor would it be the last.

"I had hoped you would wear this on our wedding night." His fingers were skimming the ethereal lace in ways he had not dared touch her in her bridal gown. She had been so cold to him then, and she had cried so very hard when they had made their way to the altar.

It had not been much improved on the journey home.

"It does not trouble you to see it?" He looked to her carefully. "It does not make you remember?"

Christine brought his hands to her breasts, daring him to be bold in his passions. "I think of how it is perfect that I wear it tonight, when I am ready to be your bride in every manner." Her voice grew low as she leaned further into his touch. "When I love you so completely, my Erik."

He understood. She had been his bride for many months now, and confessed her love to him not long after, but there was a certain symbolism to celebrating their marriage to the day in all her finery.

And Erik seemed to agree.

For a moment she feared he would tear the fabric in his haste to access her, but he seemed far more fascinated in watching her flesh through the translucent material—as her breasts rose and fell with each breath that pushed his hand closer to her sensitive tips—as her hips began to quiver in their own unfulfilled need.

But it was her lips he saw to first as his mouth found hers, and she shuddered at the cool invasion of his tongue, until he retreated with a chuckle. "You taste of chocolate and cream, my wife."

She smiled at his tone. "I can think of far worse things, husband."

He only hummed in response, and his lips were tormenting the exposed expanse of breast, it sent a delicious shiver to her womb.

Erik's movements were slow and cautious, and for a moment she was reminded of their first encounter—when he was terrified of harming her, and first loved her with his unpracticed hands.

But there was nothing unintended in his ministrations now, but as he gently slid the gown from her body and laid it reverently to the side, she understood the significance.

He was giving her a proper wedding night.

Only this time there would be no pain, and both were experienced enough in the art of passion and love making that both would find fulfillment.

And as his naked flesh met hers, always colder than her own heated skin, she would change nothing of their years together. Every trial had brought them closer to this blissful moment, and for all the tears and horrors she had faced in the pursuit of such happiness, all of it was worth this past year of excitement and contentment.

His hands held hers and his head was buried in her shoulder, but instead of hiding his flesh from hers as he had their first time together, he was still teasing her flesh in the most delicious of ways, every so often nibbling as a reminder of his tenderness.

He would never hurt her.

When both were spent, Christine felt a sense of peace wrap around her even as she felt Erik's settle upon her for the night.

"Are you happy, Christine? Truly?"

She turned to face her husband, and even though she should be thinking of retrieving Catherine from Chloe's, or perhaps of the abandoned dessert upon the side table, all she could do was kiss her Erik upon his withered mouth, and whisper her response.

"As long as I am with you, I am the happiest of women."

Erik merely tightened his hold in response.

* * *

Sooo… there you have it! While none of you complained over the traditional length of my chapters, how did you like over 11,000 words? The next one is not even close to complete (just enough for snippet giving) so please be patient with me as I write, and I'm very sorry that I cannot give you a posting day.

But do not fear! I have never forgotten about this story, and until there is a _complete _sign I shall not!


	3. Appendix II

And here we are again! It was quite odd not posting something midweek, but alas, this was not complete by then. Thanks again to all of you who reviewed, it's nice to know you do not mind longer "chapters"! This is a bit shorter than last week, but I hope you enjoy all the same.

* * *

ii

Erik was not an unreasonable man, and through the aid of his wife and ambling daughter, he was beginning to learn both patience and cool temperedness.

And so he had waited.

He had watched his pupil kiss his daughter's tiny hand, and watched him encourage her in her first toddling steps, and he swore before both his and Christine's God that if her first word had been _Armand _the boy would not last the night.

Erik then profusely apologized in his prayer that night when her first utterance was in fact _Pa. _

Catherine was now three years of age, and was all piercing blue eyes and soft brown curls that resolutely refused to be tamed by her mother's braiding.

And upon Armand's arrival that morning, she had run to him with a kiss.

Christine had laughed and assured him she was only mimicking how her parents greeted one another when separated for any length of time, and Erik rather shortly reminded her that they were in fact _married. _

Thankfully his wife had remained silent on the subject ever since.

Marie and Jacques had become more attentive parents throughout the years, and once the newness of reunion had worn off, they parted with Armand more for the quality of education than simply to be rid of him—much to Christine and Erik's approval.

But as his lessons had continued, so had the insertion of him into their little family unit, and Catherine had learned quickly that when the boy appeared, new diversions were amply provided for her entertainment.

On this day however, Erik had taken Christine aside and specifically requested she distract their daughter by any means necessary.

"Erik, you cannot be serious. He is far too young for such a talk!" In the past years Christine had begun to steadily lose her own girlish attributes in favor of more womanly features, and Erik could not honestly say the change was wholly unwelcome.

As his daughter began to abandon babyhood in favor of girlhood, the distinction between mother and daughter was a coveted happening.

Always loath of change, Erik would have been perfectly happy for his daughter to remain young forever—and in truth, at only three she could hardly be considered _old._ But he found she aged at a slow enough pace for him to adequately adjust to the changes with as little fuss as possible.

Until now.

"I am quite serious, Christine. Cat can hardly be expected to be held accountable for her actions, but at ten, _he _may be. And _shall."_

Christine rolled her eyes dramatically. "This should be a task for his father."

Erik sniffed indignantly. "Perhaps so, but I have been his teacher for many years, and I believe that gives me adequate cause for the task."

His wife came very close to him—far closer than he would have generally allowed in front of the children playing a few yards away. "Do not frighten him, husband. He is a wonderful playmate for our daughter, and you must admit your own fondness for him." Her eyes grew fierce as she looked into his eyes. "And I rather think of him as my own son, so be kind!"

At one point her tone may have offended him, but he saw the slightly pained expression that was soon to follow, and by the grace of God he had been offered understanding.

Christine had not yet become pregnant again, and though they frequented the activities which should induce such occurrences, they had yet to produce even the inkling of another child.

And while he accepted their state as a potential blessing, Christine had taken it especially hard.

In her attempt to remain content with those all too willing to accept the love she offered so readily, Christine had begun to think of Armand as her own—a subject which Marie would always find tremendously amusing. Having given birth to another boy nearly a year ago, she freely allowed the arrangement.

Erik placed a comforting hand on her cheek and kissed the other softly. "I shall be mindful of your feelings as always, my love."

She smiled at him, and he felt the same thrill echo through his heart—the same as he had felt when she had first bestowed such a gift upon him. "Come along Catherine, I believe _Fille _should like some attention!"

"But, Mama, the pretty bug!"

Christine frowned at her daughter's reticence. "Your friend shall surely be somewhere around the yard when we are finished. But for now come with me."

The little girl abandoned her post dutifully watching a ladybug safely maneuver itself across a rose petal in favor of obliging her mother's call, and Erik enjoyed the view of mother and daughter walking across the lawn toward the stable.

Armand made to follow them, but halted when his teacher's voice brokered no argument. "We have something to discuss, Armand. Join me in the study."

Erik rarely spoke to him harshly, but when he donned his strictest persona, the boy knew well to listen and obey.

It did not take long to enter the study, as Erik used his far lengthier legs to their full advantage so he could be seated behind his desk when the boy appeared. Intimidation was not exactly necessary, but he found it aided in the seriousness of the discussion.

Armand entered the room with the posture of one fully ready to receive whatever punishment an unhappy mentor saw fit to enact. "Sir, I'm sorry if I did something wrong."

Erik sighed. While he wanted his understanding of the subject—and perhaps at the end some small apology for having made the entire discussion necessary—he never liked the way the boy's shoulders would sag under the weight of whatever chastisement he was ready to bear.

It was entirely too familiar—and that was not to be borne.

"Sit down, Armand, you are not in trouble."

The boy sat, running a hand through his still shaggy hair as he did so—a habit taken from himself, Erik noted ruefully.

"I am not about to murder you, therefore you are permitted to relax." He could not help it. Though he honestly was attempting to aid the boy in being receptive to this conversation, he did have to smile as he considered the lasso still positioned in the desk drawer.

A _locked _drawer now that Catherine had the ability to open such things.

Armand did seem to lose a bit of tension, but his posture was still uncomfortable. "Why did you wish to see me?"

This was proving to be more difficult than he anticipated. All wide eyes and innocent expression, it was far easier to be upset with the _idea _of the boy's intentions than the boy himself.

Perhaps Christine was right. There was no need to be unkind, only firm in his declarations.

"What do you know of courtship?"

Whatever Armand had been expecting, this was most assuredly not it. "Courtship? With wooing and flowers and chocolates? Mama likes it when Papa courts her, but I find it rather sickening."

Erik smiled to himself. This was not so very difficult after all. "Armand, my daughter is very attached to you, and she has very little contact with others beside my wife and me for examples. Her affections for you are perfectly natural, but I must ask that you refrain from allowing her to _throw _herself at you before she understands her actions."

Armand looked at him blankly. "Affections? You mean when she kisses me?"

Ah yes—the precise precipitation of this little interlude. "Correct. And while she is entirely innocent in her gestures, I do not want you to become confused. Whatever relationships are formed when she is older—_much _older—may be handled accordingly. But for now, you must behave as a gentleman."

He could tell he was confusing the boy, and he forced himself to be mindful of how young he was. "Do not kiss her back."

Armand let out an, "Oh," and nodded readily. "Yes, sir."

Erik allowed himself a moment's time to feel relief at the boy's acquiescence. Perhaps he had overreacted to the situation. She was still practically an infant, and it was quite clear this boy was as innocent as she in terms of carnal pursuits.

But he remembered how innocently Christine had parted with her own first kiss to the hands of _Raoul—_a man she most assuredly did _not _marry—and he hoped for better with his daughter.

And Armand could assist him in ensuring her maintenance of purity until such time she was of sound mind and heart and could part with such things accordingly.

When she was _married _and not a moment before.

He was not an ogre. For all his protective posturing, he had every intention of allowing a man worthy of his daughter seek out her hand in matrimony, and no matter how begrudgingly he could admit that Armand could very well be the beginnings of such a man.

Christine loved him, as did his daughter, and he had his own fondness for his pupil that he supposed rivaled that of any natural born child.

But he shook his head of such thoughts.

His daughter was merely three, and he was allowed to keep and protect her until such a time of necessity when he should allow her to leave him.

To the house next door.

Having remained vacant for so long, Erik took it as a sign that perhaps additional plans should be made regarding the future. When Christine did not immediately become pregnant upon ceasing to nurse, the idea of a pressing need for additional space dwindled, and thoughts of this becoming their permanent residence took further hold.

So he purchased the adjoining home.

Still outside the property which would afford privacy when the time came, he saw it as the perfect dowry for his little Cat whenever she should have need of it.

And it should also guarantee him frequent visitation.

If Christine knew what he had done, she had never mentioned it to him.

"Was there anything else, Monsieur Erik?" The boy looked antsy, and it was clear he was looking forward to spending of the remainder of the day out of doors instead of buried in the book room as they had spent the winter.

"No, you may go. But be mindful what I said!" He nodded enthusiastically and scampered from the room, and Christine's voice seemed to echo through the halls even as he slipped slightly on the way to the doorway.

"No running in the cottage! When you have your own home you may do as you please!"

It always gave Erik particular pleasure when she made reference to their home, as he never wished for her to feel that anything he owned was not also partly hers. He may make certain fiscal decisions unilaterally, but it was never with the intent she feel inferior.

When the wife in question entered the house, Catherine not in hand, he raised a questioning eyebrow. "Armand is taking her to look at the pollywogs."

Erik rolled his eyes. "Of course he is. Remind me why I showed him the blasted things to begin with."

Christine laughed pleasantly and waited patiently for Erik to move his desk chair back slightly so she could make use of his lap. "Because you are a wonderful instructor, and it was important to show him all sorts of scientific..."

For all his requesting she remind him, he did not seem particularly interested in the response as his lips were firmly covering hers as his hands wound around her waist. "That was rhetorical, wife."

She hummed pleasantly before resting her head upon his shoulder. "How did it go with Armand? You did not mention more _intimate _things did you?" Christine sounded rather scandalized by the prospect.

Erik chuckled. "Your mind may rest easy, Christine. I simply requested he keep his lips to himself for the time being." Oh how desperately he wished to add _always, _but he forced himself to be realistic.

If Christine's father had lived—had been honored by continuing to dwell in the presence of this angel—Erik would most assuredly have been denied the blessing of her love.

And if any young man should be so privileged as to recognize what a treasure was his daughter, he would not deny him.

For that would be the greatest hypocrisy of his entire life.

That did not however mean he had to like it.

-X-

Her lovely husband.

They had been spending the warm summer day allowing Catherine and Armand to roam through the small meadows beyond the cottage, and she had even managed to convince Erik that a picnic would not be as intolerable as he supposed.

He begrudgingly agreed.

And though days like today should only fill her with the warmth of domestic happiness, she still felt the stirrings of discord when the familiar longing for another small babe entered her mind.

But why had it not happened?

When she had first become concerned for her ability to conceive, she had refused to speak to her husband on the matter. He had been so distressed by the news of Catherine's impending birth that she dared not bring up the subject of yearning for another—not when his own feelings were so very clear.

But she was growing sulky and despondent, and no matter how he coaxed and skillfully manipulated, she could not bear to give words to her greatest dread.

She feared she was infertile.

Of course there were other women who surely did not so readily conceive after a mere three years, but that did not stop the feeling of sorrow at the possibility.

And so she spent many months in prayer.

She did not shirk her responsibilities as a wife and mother—she was not so disheartened by the absence of another as to find discontentment with who she _had _been blessed with, but when she made yet another trek to the church in order to seek the solace of the sanctuary, Father Martin intervened.

"Christine, these things are never as simple as they seem. But I can assure you, the more you fret and conceal your feelings from your husband, the worse things shall be for the both of you in your marriage."

He was right of course. She couldnot keep this from him. It was unfair to both him and their daughter if her emotions could be so entirely sullied because of this strange urge to bring forth another child.

And so it was with such determination she returned home to explain to her husband.

Such treks in solitude were not uncommon, though Erik never allowed her to go farther unaccompanied than the church—a condition that suited her quite well. It took them both many months to not only trust each other again in terms of safety and presence, but even longer to once more have assurance in humanity that not everyone was intent on their separation.

Such fears still appeared even now.

Catherine was napping when she returned, and Erik was in the music room, quietly tinkering at the piano—fingers deftly moving over the keys though no sound was produced.

She was certain he could hear the music perfectly well in any case.

He did not turn to look at her when she entered, but he spoke to her all the same. "Is your soul really in so great a peril that you required yet another visit to our favorite priest?"

His tone was sarcastic, and she realized her lack of communication as to her true reasons for her visits was affecting him more than he had previously let on.

And the way he kept playing—the way he would not even turn to look at her—even though it was all her fault and it was perfectly reasonable he feel hurt and angry at her lack of faith, she found the unwanted tears already pooling in her eyes. "Oh Erik, I am sorry!"

It was not fair to him when she cried, and she did try admirably to stop the flow of tears as they quickly wet her cheeks and she felt the sobs bubble forth. She did not mean to hurt him!

He looked more bewildered than pained as she buried her face in his knees as he had turned to face her on the piano bench. "Christine, what has happened? Are you hurt?"

The more she tried to force the words from her throat the tighter it became, and the more concerned Erik seemed to become. "My wife, you must tell your husband what has happened or he shall assume the worst!"

He pulled her from the floor—never liking her to be on the structure for any length of time no matter how she explained the rugs were at times far more comfortable than any piece of furniture—and moved to the chair a short distance away. "At least tell me if you are injured."

She shook her head through her tears, and she heard him release a sigh of relief. "Then I shall attempt to wait patiently for you to compose yourself until you are able to explain."

His words may have returned to their aloof phrasing she was used to when he was feeling particularly hurt, but his hands as they caressed her hair aided in her comfort enough that her sobs subsided and she was able to whisper into his coat the nature of her torment.

"I would like so very much to have another child. And I know how much that would frighten you, but we are not precisely attempting _not _to have one, and Father Martin says I must have faith and to allow these things to take their natural course but…" Her tears were threatening to return, as Erik remained frozen beneath her.

"You seek solace for not once more being with child? It truly troubles you so?"

The very _last _thing she wished was for his agitation—for him to turn this into a misguided determination she was unsatisfied with him and the child he had already provided.

And she told him so. "But that is not it at all, Erik, I _swear _it."

He was quiet for a long moment, though his hands did resume their attention to her hair. "Why have you not spoken of this before?"

She sniffled once more, though she tried to save his coat from the brunt of the abuse. "I _have _spoken of it."

His tone turned slightly sharper. "You mentioned your surprise that no more had been conceived once your menses returned, but you did _not _supply that it was of great importance to you that such would occur!"

Christine thought it far more truthful that he had chosen not to infer her meaning by bringing up her surprise in the first place. But perhaps that was unfair. He could not be expected to read her mind—it was her duty as his wife to explain what was lying heavily upon her heart.

And she had failed.

"I am so sorry, husband."

Erik hummed in response, even as his hand stroked her cheek.

But instead of gazing at her tenderly as was his custom with gesture, he was looking plaintively at the wetness on his fingertips. "While I understand your distress, it has been quite some time since you have had such a strong outburst as this. One would almost say it was similar to when you were with child."

She scowled at him and made to exit his embrace. "Do not tease me, Erik. I am _infertile. _If I were meant to become pregnant once more, surely I would have done so!"

Erik rolled his eyes, which only furthered her ire at his lack of seriousness. She truly was about to depart and leave him to his own sarcasm regarding such a devastating topic when his hands cupped her face—not enough to hurt but firmly enough she dared not move. "You are _not _infertile, Christine. For all we know the fault could lie with me."

She blinked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

If a wife did not produce children it was surely her own fault—it was surely not the fault of a man's seed if it failed to take hold.

Erik did not seem uncomfortable by the topic, but spoke succinctly and without hesitation. "You take far too much blame upon yourself. I am not as young as you, my dear, surely you have noticed. The _quality _may be damaged with age."

Never had she considered such a thing. He certainly had no difficulty being with her intimately, but she knew so very little of such things.

But the possibility that it was not somehow her fault for their lack of additional children gave her comfort.

For she would _never _blame him.

His fingers once more grew gentle as they skimmed her cheeks and he kissed her softly. "But I do not believe you have cause to worry."

"How do you mean?" At his look she had a sinking feeling where his mind was headed. "Erik, I am not with child."

A lone eyebrow rose. "How are you certain? If I remember correctly our actions early this morning would indicate you have not begun your menses. Has something changed in the past few hours?"

She huffed in annoyance. "I would know."

He _chuckled _at her. "Would you? My loveliest Christine, you are not a physician, and I believe you were set to begin four days ago."

Erik was right of course, though it was slightly unsettling he kept such knowledge at the forefront of his mind.

How she longed for the return of her more regular cycle she had been graced with before her last pregnancy! Every variance was an oddity, and she could tell Erik clearly when she had missed it and be proven correct in her assumption.

Not anymore.

Some months she skipped it entirely, and just when she began to hope for the swelling of her breasts to indicate a child, such dreams were dashed by the splash of red.

And she could cry and tell Erik it was nothing—simply aches from the cramping of her womb once more.

Now she resented his postulation that now should be any different.

But this was Erik suggesting it, not herself. Her husband with his vast knowledge of more things than she could possibly fathom was asking her to consider the possibility that she was _already _with child—and if there was anything she had learned since their marriage it was to trust Erik's genius above her own.

So for a moment she determined to allow the fantasy to take hold.

"What would be your opinion if such were true?"

He looked away from her then, and for a moment she feared her original fears were justified—the very reason she had not confided in him to begin with.

Her heart ached when he answered.

"I will not deny that the prospect terrifies me. Our daughter was a blessing in her perfection, but another…" He stopped then, as though the words were too painful to bear.

This time it was her hands that caressed his marred features, and she tilted him to face her once more. "God has blessed us to be sure. And I have told you before, Erik. I would love any child that was given us."

At one time she might have wondered if his fear was that _he _could not—that if something proved wrong with a child, he would be incapable of seeing beyond such flaws.

But not now.

The years had changed him, and though he would harbor the same doubts he had nursed before, surely he had faith now that his bane was not necessarily guaranteed to his offspring.

His hand drifted to her abdomen and settled upon her womb. "You have such belief, my wife. For a time it was enough for both of us." The fingers of his hand gently palpated the area, and her eyes fluttered closed at the movement. "Perhaps that shall not be necessary in this case."

How she wished that to be true.

She did not want another if it would cause him to once more doubt her love—but this was only fantasy was it not? They conversed as though it were reality, but there was little evidence to suggest such was truth.

So she took his hand away from its position upon her and kissed it once before settling it in her lap.

He could treat her as if she was with child when it had been _proven _such was the case.

For now it was too painful to consider his tenderness was directed to an empty womb.

But Erik would have none of it, and his eyes turned fierce as asked the pertinent question. "Why did you keep this from me? Did you believe me so incapable of compassion for you?"

She let out a shuddering breath as she remembered how alone she felt in her pain, and looked at him with pleading eyes. "I did not wish to cause you to worry for my happiness when it was not truly in jeopardy. But I realize now that it was unfair of me to deny you my confidence. And for that I am so terribly sorry."

Erik sighed heavily, but when he placed a kiss upon her temple she knew he had forgiven her. "I cannot say I will be without trepidation of your pregnancy, Christine. I shall always worry for both you and the child, but I can assure you I am not displeased by the prospect." He frowned suddenly. "Though it does prove problematic as we have no additional rooms."

From the way he spoke, she was becoming convinced he believed her to be with child, and resolutely ignored her feeling that such was not the case and allowed him to fill her head with ideas of nurseries and additional playthings for their new child.

And then informed her they would be seeing a physician the next day.

Christine nearly protested the decision, determined they could wait longer and see if her bleeding came as she suspected it would, but when she caught Erik smiling ever so softly toward the piano, she stopped herself.

She would have faith.

So the next morning when they arrived at the village midwife and she calmly congratulated them both on the imminent arrival of their second child, Christine promptly burst into tears.

All the while Erik held her hand, and she pretended not to hear his whispered words. "My silly wife, did your husband not tell you?"

And though she had the sudden desire to hit him, she simply clung to his hand instead.

-X-

Thirty eight weeks later, and Christine and Erik found themselves in the same position, only her tears had melted from relief and rapture to the agonized cries of one attempting to bring forth another babe into the world.

Had it truly been so agonizing the last time? She hardly remembered the pain being so intense, but the midwife assured her it was simply because the baby was nearly full term, and the labor quickened from being her second.

Now she wondered why she had so desperately prayed for a repeat of such torment.

This pregnancy had not felt like the last. Perhaps that was simply because of her change in relationship to her husband, but the baby from the beginning had felt more at peace.

Catherine had roiled and writhed in the womb, and while Christine appreciated the evidence of her liveliness, her second babe was far more docile. Not to the point of concern, though she did certainly have plenty of those.

"He is simply a quiet soul, Madam, you should not fear. It would only be if you felt no movement at all that I should worry."

Christine was grateful for the forthcoming nature of this midwife, as well as her ability to frequent the woman. No longer was she taken through back allies at night, but made regular visits and was always greeted with a smile.

Though she was still uncomfortable when the more intimate procedures were performed.

Erik had taken a very different view of this pregnancy as well, though she did still catch him staring at her whenever the baby's slight turning should awaken her in the night.

She never saw any drawings of her rapidly changing body, and almost felt a pang of loss at the thought. It was with fondness she thought of the compilation of his thoughts and dealings with her first pregnancy, but she accepted it as a maturation of his own faith. He did not need to reconcile each change as accurately as he did before because he was confident the fundamental nature of _her _would remain the same.

And she was glad for it.

Explaining to Catherine had been more difficult than they had anticipated. While Christine was concerned that their daughter should feel as though the attentions of her parents would soon become divided, she was far more interested in discovering _how _her mama had become pregnant to begin with.

She allowed Erik to take the lead with that particular conversation.

Christine was always amazed how comfortable he was when she was not. They seemed to fill in for each other's weaknesses, and while her mouth refused to open at the prospect of explaining any such thing to her small daughter, Erik _smiled _and lifted Cat into his arms.

"Because your papa loves mama very much, and God blessed them. But you do not have to worry about any such thing for a long while yet, alright, _mon_ Cat? It will not happen to you."

Catherine kissed his cheek as she always did when he held her, and whispered her response. "May I have my cookie now?"

And that was the end of that.

She asked whether it would be a boy like Armand's brother, and Erik patiently explained time and again that it was impossible to tell such things before it was born.

One night, just when she was beginning to show and Erik was stroking the swell softly, she asked him his opinion on the matter.

"You said once that the idea of a boy terrified you, as a girl would far more likely resemble me. Do you still feel that way?"

He was distracting her from her enquiry, she knew. Just as he had when word had reached them of her first pregnancy, he had been loath to permit any sort of relations between them that he perceived could put her at risk.

While he had relented a few times, the occurrence was becoming rare, and her flesh was all too ready to respond when his hands abandoned her womb in favor of more aching places.

How she had missed him!

In truth, it had only been three weeks since their last encounter, but she found that once her nausea had dissipated and her cravings began, it was a far different craving than she had expected that had awoken.

Christine should remind him of her question. It was never a good sign when he refused a query, but as his fingers gently pressed against her breast, ever so softly and mindful of the tissue that so often was sore these days, she found herself not caring in the slightest what her question might have been.

She would simply blame the hormones in the morning.

"Is the door locked?"

While Erik had become increasingly mindful of any impending dangers that Catherine could stumble upon in their little cottage, that also included a more complex lock than was previously established.

He claimed his daughter was far too intelligent to be impeded by such a primitive structure.

Christine thought he was simply frightened of Catherine walking in on their activities.

Erik sighed into her neck. "Some would think I was being reticent in my husbandly duties if you had enough faculties to think of the status of the door." He nibbled slightly and her breathing hitched. "_Yes, _wife, the door is secure."

Perhaps this was not such an impromptu joining after all.

They had been lying on their sides—her back against his chest as he cradled her in his arms, and she could feel him already prepared to enter her as they were, but she tugged on his arms insistently until he was on top of her.

"Please, for soon we cannot indulge this way."

He chuckled softly as he kissed her, and though there had been little inducement, she was still ready for him when he entered her.

Perhaps not every bit of pregnancy was tedious.

Erik was careful with her, but no less attentive when he finally allowed himself to forget for a moment his fears for the safety of her delicate condition, and as he joined with her, it felt _right, _not at all like the terrible moment when she realized she was in labor too soon.

How she loved him.

Even after their completion and he had returned to his mindless caress upon her bared middle, she felt the delightful warmth she always felt after being with him.

"I think perhaps a boy might be preferable. It would not be such a terrible thing to have an aid in keeping Catherine from undesirable characters."

Erik's tone was teasing, and she quite rightly supposed he was making reference to Armand—_not _some shady character bent on stealing his daughter's virtue.

She rolled her eyes at him in response.

His hands bade her look at him, and his eyes were serious. "But I shall love any child you bequeath me, Christine. That I swear to you."

She almost cursed him for making her cry _again _with his sweet words, but she could not deny they were precisely what she needed to hear. Not for a moment did she doubt her own ability to love, it was only his acceptance that concerned her.

And he had sworn his affections would remain true, no matter their child.

Sleep did not elude her that night.

"Christine, you must _push _if you have any intention of birthing this child tonight!"

She sobbed in the effort.

The words of the midwife tormented her as she had promised the second birth was always easier than the first, and it was with absolute certainty she wished to refute such a claim.

Each contraction of her womb was too fast, and she was so _very _tired, and she had not the comfort of cool autumn air but the early summer was continuing to stifle her even as the midwife's assistant heated even _more _water.

If ever she was in such a position again, she would beg Erik to allow her to return to the care of the whore's midwife—she at least had much better sense.

"No more blasted water, it is stifling as it is!"

The apprentice looked frightened as Erik growled at her, but Christine only felt another outpouring of emotion as Erik spoke the very words that were choked by her tears.

She wanted this to be _over!_

"Madam, you must take a full breath and push with the exhale. It will only be over if you do so!"

Was this woman blind as well as sadistic? She _could not _do this.

And then her husband was brushing away her dampened curls that clung furiously to her overheated flesh, and his cool hands felt like the sweetest comfort she could possibly imagine. "Erik, _please _I cannot!"

The midwife had not wanted him to be allowed in the birthing room, but as he began whispering in her ear, Christine was entirely certain she could not have found the strength to continue had he been forced to leave her alone. "Of course you can, my love. You have done it before, and you are so very strong, Christine. I have complete faith in you." His voice turned low and conspiratorial. "And our child needs you, Christine. Please remember that."

And so he gripped her hand and filled her mind with words of adoration and encouragement as the midwife bade her push, and though it did not occur as quickly as they should have liked, soon she felt the final give as the crying babe was released.

A boy.

They knew nothing of boys. While Armand frequented their home, their entire lives centered around the female race in their little cottage.

And now there was a boy.

So different from his sister as he was placed upon her breast, all wrinkles and yellowy skin even though he had just emerged from the womb.

But he was so very beautiful.

And as Erik continued to look at his _son, _he whispered to his wife. "You must name him."

Christine kept looking between father and son, and though by no means was their little baby deformed like his father, the resemblance was clear for all to see.

And though in future she would blame the overwhelming rapture of seeing a baby alive and whole which would explain her choice in name, at that moment she could only picture Erik naming their little feline after her because they shared the same blue eyes.

"Hello, my little Erik."

When she looked at the squinting eyes of her lovely little boy, they entirely matched his father's more annoyed expression. And she smiled at them both adoringly.

She tried not to be upset when the apprentice severed the cord and took him away to be cleaned, and she reminded herself to be grateful for the care he received.

It took a few more moments before the midwife was finished with the actual birthing process and was able to clean up Christine and tell her to rest, and by that time little Erik was being deposited into her husband's arms.

"What do you think, Erik? Is he not perfect?"

All long limbs and torso, she understood why he was so much more difficult to deliver than her petite little girl.

Erik was looking at him strangely, almost as if waiting for something within his own mind to allow him peace of mind before he gave his opinion on their new addition, and she reminded herself of his promise to love their child—no matter what.

That included resolutely fighting his own demons that would threaten to pollute such a moment as this.

Finally when the newborn had quieted and his own bleary eyes opened a minuscule amount, Erik smiled.

"I believe your mama is getting back at me for a rash name choice, little son, but I shall be happy to share my name with you. Perhaps you will be blessed enough to find your own Christine."

And then Erik was leaning over her once more and whispering in her ear. "Thank you, my wife." He kissed her heated temple softly. "But you are terribly naughty in your naming abilities."

She merely smiled sleepily in response.

But before she could close her eyes in sleep, Erik was placing their son upon her breast. "I know you are exhausted, Christine, but he will fuss if you do not feed him."

Christine was suddenly grateful she was practiced in this at least and was not forced to wait for the midwife to return and remind her of the basics. It was a natural occurrence, and her breasts seemed only too happy to oblige her son as he feebly moved his long fingers in search of nourishment.

Erik cleared his throat quietly. "Would you be terribly upset if I retrieved Catherine?"

Their daughter had been left with Marie on the way to the midwife—something that was also not quite traditional. The woman had made it quite clear it was part of her duties to come to the home when it was time for the birth, but Christine had been adamant that she had no desire to sully their marriage bed with such pain.

And the last few hours only confirmed her assertions.

So as such the arrangement was made that Catherine would be delivered to Marie's awaiting household when the time came, and Erik and Christine would hurry into town for the delivery.

But apparently Erik did not wish to wait for their journey home to retrieve her.

And as she looked at her now suckling son, the only thing that would complete the moment was the downy curls of her daughter. "Go to our daughter, Erik. Then we may go home."

He kissed her soundly, obviously quite grateful for her agreement with his own desires and departed, leaving mother and son to bond in the small room of the midwife's home.

Her little Erik was beautiful. Not at all in the same way Catherine had been, with her small countenance and pink features, but in his own special way that could entirely have been biased by her mothering love.

She touched his cheek gently, and the tiniest slit of one eye opened, and it was not the same blue as her daughter's. Christine had the slight suspicion that they would become more of her husband's hue than her own.

That was one definite trait Catherine had inherited from Erik. While her eyes were blue, they were quite pale, and nearly translucent in certain lights which gave her an almost ethereal quality that could be unsettling. If not for the fact she was the child's mother of course.

Perhaps little Erik's would be his father's yellow. Or perhaps hazel.

Or perhaps it did not really matter.

She had fallen asleep when the padding footsteps of a nightgown clad Catherine entered the room, and she smiled tiredly as her daughter cautiously came forward—clutching her father's hand as she did so.

"Is that my brother?"

Erik's hand brushed over her curls before settling her on the side of the bed so she could better see the bundle sleeping on Christine's chest. "Yes, it is. Remember to be gentle like I told you." His tone was firm as he reminded the outstretched hand to treat him softly before she grasped his tiny fist in her own delicate palm.

She was content to hold it for a moment, before turning back to her papa and whispering her determination. "He looks like my doll," her voice full of wonder.

"Just do not drop him like you do your dolls," Erik responded dryly.

Christine shot him a reproachful look before deciding she did not have enough energy to chastise him properly.

Her family was all together, whole and healthy, and Erik could see to getting them all home.

She would just close her eyes for a moment…

And it was with her husband's chuckle whispering in her ear that she fell asleep.

* * *

Sooo… looks like they have a new addition! I shall be honest, I never thought they would have another child after Cat but… these things do happen!

I got summoned for Jury Duty, so let us hope that does not impede my writing schedule for my _plan _is to post the last of the Appendixes next Saturday. A sort of… happy ¾ birthday to myself. So fingers crossed I remain jury free!


	4. Appendix III

Alright, five months from its beginning, we are at the end of our little tale. Thank you all _so _much for your support and patience with me, you have all been a wonderful group to write for.

* * *

iii

When Erik pictured fatherhood—whenever he would allow the thought to escape the tight hold he held upon such fanciful dreams—it was never quite like reality.

Time was not one's own. While he was used to dividing his pursuits between his own desires and that of Christine's, even transitioning from Catherine to little Erik was a struggle. He did not resent their demands on his time, but it was still rather tedious when compositions must be entirely abandoned because Cat had determined it was the optimum time for her to settle upon his lap and begin her first piano lesson.

She was only five—five and three quarters as Catherine would solemnly remind him should he mention her age—and he could have easily told her to go find a story book to look through, but when she looked at him with those large blue eyes that so greatly reminded him of her mother's own pleading looks, he resolutely stomped down the annoyance and settled her more firmly upon his lap and took her tiny hand in his.

"Thisis middle C."

Though she only pressed the key due to his own involvement, she still turned to him upon her success with a large smile. "I did it, Papa!"

He wanted to grimace—remind her that encouragements should be given for _actual _achievements so that the child does not become spoiled—but instead he simply ruffled her hair slightly. "Indeed."

Erik was reminded of their attempts at singing lessons not a month ago.

Never could he have anticipated a greater disaster—he was quite certain his ears were still ringing.

There was nothing wrong with her voice—quite innocent in its childlike tones—it was the screaming she would emit when requested to do so.

He felt dreadful that he might have inspired such reactions from instructing her mother. While he was not as harsh as he was in their early years, he did tend to adhere more to his maestro persona when instructing, and while Christine took such reprimands as all part of her education, Catherine was a far more sensitive soul.

So she resolutely refused to sing for him.

He would catch her at times, when playing with her dolls or some other toy he had constructed for her, mindlessly humming the lullaby he and Christine would sing for her.

Apparently instruments were a different matter.

Their lesson on the piano did not last very long, as just when he was introducing her to the full range of scales, little Erik ran hurriedly into the room.

"Papa!"

He should call for Christine—inform her that their daughter's musical education should come before her son's incessant need for further stimulation—but when the toddler took his two pointer fingers and began plunking out a slight tune and his daughter's laugh filled the air, he further resigned himself to the household being entirely run by his children.

Perhaps such a thought should have bothered him more than it did.

"That isn't right, Erik, _this _is middle C."

And suddenly Erik remembered why it was important to praise Catherine for every little accomplishment. Her brother—three years her junior—was already beginning to understand the fundamentals of music more with his own explorations than she did in a formalized lesson.

He would be damned if she would grow up feeling inferior to her brother.

She was a bright child, eager to please and of a mild temperament on most occasions, but he feared when her brother grew and excelled faster in certain areas, she would grow to feel lesser to his intelligence.

A fact that Christine could attest to readily.

His wife never complained about their differences, but he knew she felt intimidated by the ease of his ability to learn. If only she knew he would have sacrificed half his acuity if it meant he could have been normal.

In the past at least.

He found himself startlingly content with his current arrangement, deformity and all. His children never marveled at it, and his son had given it no further thought than his sister had, though it was uncomfortable the day she had enquired of it.

Christine had been the one to field the question, and Erik remained frozen in his place beside them on the sofa, nearly clutching his son to his chest for reassurance that his children would accept him.

But just like she always did, his wife thoroughly surprised him. She once accused him of always being able to say the proper thing at precisely the right moment, but he was convinced it was she that possessed that particular power.

Moments like this only confirmed his theory.

"I believe Father Martin told you once that God has specific plans for every person, but we do not always understand precisely what that is." Her voice grew low, and even with his acute hearing he strained to hear her. "But I shall tell you a secret. I believe your papa was made this way so we could have him with us. If he had looked like everybody else, he might not have married me!"

Catherine's little mouth dropped open at the thought. "But you're mama! He _has _to be married to you!"

Christine tapped her daughter's nose lightly. "And God knew that, so here we are."

His Cat never mentioned it again.

But Erik knew that such questions were likely to be more involved when his son began to ask them. Already the boy had a tendency to destroy things—not because he was bent on the destruction of his mother's favorite items as Christine was so thoroughly convinced—but Erik could recognize his own natural curiosity even at such a young age.

He would most likely require a more scientific explanation as to his father's deformity.

One that Erik could not provide.

But for now, he was content to play with whatever toy was put before him, and expend far more energy than he should chasing after Armand and Catherine as they wandered the garden on scientific expeditions.

Erik did not mind as it lent more time for kissing his wife behind the shrubbery.

That was a particular aspect he had not foreseen. The more children that were procured, the more instances for discovery of more intimate moments than one would wish said offspring to witness—especially now that Catherine was of an age that such things would be remembered.

Though Erik remained convinced his children had complete control of their faculties since birth.

It was because of this that it was resolutely determined that an additional bedroom must be added to their cottage. Little Erik was perfectly capable of sleeping in his bassinet—fully draped so peering eyes could not see his parent's activities—but as soon as he was able to crawl, Erik determined it was necessary he be removed from their sacred space.

Unfortunately that required the sacrifice of another of their rooms.

It was entirely inappropriate for his children to share being of differing genders, and though he felt dreadful for the solution, he allowed Christine to sacrifice her front parlor in favor of it becoming a bedroom for their son.

"Truly Erik, I would much rather we keep the study and the music room as we spend most of our time there in any case. And it can be only a temporary solution if that comforts you, just until we are able to acquire something more permanent." Her arms had come to rest around his neck and her breath was warm against his ear. "For I am unwilling to part with the activities that make his vacation a necessity."

He heartily agreed.

So the furniture was stored until a future time when it might be restored to its rightful place, and little Erik was moved into his new bedroom—with his bassinet safely away from the front windows.

"_Félin!" _

Erik had made the mistake of lowering the lid of the piano so as to muffle the sound somewhat and not disturb his children during their supposed nap time, but by doing so he had finally come to realize what had caught the attention of his son in the first place.

_Félin _Christine was currently lounging across the structure.

Was nothing in this home his own?

Feeling sulkier than perhaps he should have, he settled Catherine and little Erik upon the bench and allowed his daughter to explain in her rather imperious tones the lesson he had just given.

And then he proceeded to look for his wife, hearing the dulcet tones of tiny hands slightly abuse his instrument in his wake.

He tried desperately not to cringe.

Now that her parlor had been absconded, Christine could mostly be found in the kitchen. Either baking or simply sitting at the small table with a cup of tea, the domestic setting suited her beautifully.

Perhaps she was never truly meant to be the diva of his stage.

She was always to be the diva of his home.

His heart still clenched when she smiled at him so becomingly as he entered, though it faded slightly when she saw his faint scowl.

"Erik, what is wrong?"

He huffed as he sank into the chair across from her. "Your children have overtaken my music room. Your cat also appears to be in league with them in their plot."

Christine's eyebrows rose. "_My _children? I believe _félin _Christine is far more yours than mine, and I can hardly take credit for little Erik." She calmly took a sip of her tea. "Besides, surely you can handle two children—a cunning ghost such as yourself."

Erik rolled his eyes. Obviously his children received their impudence from their mother. "Perhaps that priest of yours should have a word with my disobedient family before I am forced to flee back to my Opera."

He was not serious of course. _Nothing _would ever convince him to abandon his family. They could burn the entire cottage to the ground it if made them happy, he would simply look on with slight remorse before taking them to whatever spot kept them safe and content.

Such was his life now.

Christine however seemed concerned. "Erik, it does not make you a terrible father to request privacy for your own thoughts." Her fingers skimmed the lip of her teacup and her eyes were fixated on the motion. "I would much prefer your temporary withdrawal than driving you to frustration."

While it horrified him that she could possibly believe it necessary for him to _withdraw _from them at all, he did see her point that it was also important he take time for himself. Music was his outlet—the way he was able to fully express his emotions without first dousing them in a thorough dose of normalcy, and to lose such a thing to constant interruption would surely lead to his madness.

And he could not remember the last time he had an afternoon to purely compose.

But it did not seem at all right that Christine should bear the burden of complete care while he locked himself away in his music room.

If anything, _she _deserved her moments of solitude while he tended to their children. She was the one who had borne them, and while it pained him acutely to see her in such torment, it was nothing to what she must have endured.

It was a terribly confusing thing, this balance between selfishness and self preservation.

But what had he learned through the entirety of his marriage?

He must trust his wife. If she told him of her preference in his behavior, he should not ignore it as some test of sacrifice on his part, but instead embrace her suggestion as her loving gesture toward his continued sanity.

That did not mean he could not reciprocate.

It was a rarity that Christine was not in some way tending to something. Either the house or their children, Erik always was attempting to discover some new technique in reminding her that her own rest was important.

And if it meant agreeing for _her, _then was it truly selfish?

"Very well, Christine, but that also means you must do the same. If I am allowed an afternoon to shutter myself away from distractions, you must also be allowed such a luxury. Little Erik has not nursed for some time, so there is little reason why you should feel obligated to remain at their constant disposal."

His hand reached to grasp hers. "You must have your own rest, my wife."

She smiled then—a tender smile that showed so very clearly how much affection she held for him—and squeezed his hand in reassurance. "As you wish, husband. Shall I retrieve them for you now? I am sure I could keep them occupied for a few hours at least."

Erik tugged her hand insistently until with the same girlish giggle she possessed in her seventeenth year, he had pulled her into his lap, her cup of tea entirely forgotten. "We can hear them perfectly well from where we are. All I require now is you."

She kissed his cheek softly, and she rested her fingers in the silky strands of what few hairs he possessed.

Why should he require solitude when he could have her?

"You know, if our children have made it impossible for you to make use of your piano, perhaps later you shall simply have to compose on another instrument altogether." Her mouth was smiling in that wicked way that warmed his blood and made his thoughts turn to more illicit imagery.

"You are a temptress, wife. I suggest you do not make propositions you do not intend to keep."

She smiled against his withered flesh. "Never."

Perhaps it was alright they were selfish. Perhaps it was permissible to enjoy the laughter and arguments of their children from across the hall while they remembered the passion that had begotten the children in the first place.

Perhaps there was no such thing as the perfect parent. Perhaps there was only what they could offer each child day by day, and it was together that made such prospects a joy.

Perhaps it did not truly matter, not when Christine continued to nibble at his flesh.

"Tonight, wife."

"Yes, husband."

-X-

It was an unspoken rule that birthdays be ignored in their little household.

A rule that her husband consistently broke at every opportunity.

She had pleaded with him to pick a day—_any _day of significance so they could celebrate his birth if he insisted on doting on his wife and children on their special days—but he continued to simply shrug his shoulders and tell her it was of no great importance.

But it was of importance to _her. _

She had told him thusly, and he had kissed her soundly before informing her that he had no intention of celebrating anything except their anniversary, as that day was truly worth remembrance.

Though she had tried to come up with a valid argument against such a statement, unfortunately she could understand his point.

His parents had never valued his birth, so why should it be celebrated?

Their anniversary was the solidification of her _choosing _him.

And she was more than happy to celebrate that particular day in any way he wished.

But this morning was not a wintery February day.

Her birthday was always spent at home. After her seventeenth was lost in the birthing of their daughter—and Erik's subsequent plans were circumvented—Erik had attempted each year to make up for the loss.

Seeing as Catherine was not in fact born on the same day as herself, she could hardly argue that their daughter had been gift enough.

But seeing that her daughter's birthday _was _the day after hers, her birthday generally consisted of breakfast being delivered by her husband and Catherine—though she was certain now that little Erik could scamper on his own, he would also be leaping onto her bed just as robustly as his sister.

She was not disappointed.

Her eyes were not open more than a few moments before her daughter's head peeped in through the slightly open door. "Mama is awake!"

Christine could plainly hear little Erik's careful footsteps up the stairs, but was soon distracted by her daughter joining her in the bed.

A rarity to be sure.

For all of the concessions Erik made for their family, his strict policy of disallowing children in their marital bed was one that was firmly adhered to—except for birthdays and holidays.

Christine did not mind such a restriction, as she still clearly remembered Father Martin's speech during Catherine's baptismal regarding the necessity of the healthy marriage state, and their children did have a tendency toward clinginess.

Catherine more than her brother.

While Christine would happily shower him with affection all the day long, her son was far too busy to allow most of it. He was a quiet child, and though his time in her womb would have led her to believe he would simply sit and be appeased for long periods of time, in truth he was a very active boy.

Just with the terrible tendency to remain as silent as possible as he flitted from one interest to another.

Of all the traits he could have inherited from his father, that particular peculiarity was not one she had considered.

Soon she would not even be able to hear his pattering footsteps, and he would be able to startle her in equal measure as her husband.

Hopefully their mischievous tendencies would not feed from one another as they delighted in tormenting the ladies of the household.

She grimaced at the thought.

Catherine had nestled against her and was waiting patiently for her mother's traditional smoothing of her hair and good morning kiss, to which Christine readily obliged. "And what pray tell has you up so early, little _enfant?" _

There were times when her daughter steadfastly refused the endearment—for truly, what child a day before their sixth birthday would accept such a phrase?—but Christine always reverted back to the old adage when her daughter cuddled with her so.

"Papa told us we must prepare for your birthday!" Catherine wrinkled her nose. "Couldn't you sleep in later, Mama? Then we could have slept more."

Christine chuckled and kissed her daughter's silky curls. "I shall see if I can oblige you next year."

Little Erik had finally managed the stairs—cautious child that he was, it always took him far longer than Christine would have thought possible—but his excitement at seeing his sister in his parent's bed overruled his natural prudence.

"Mama, it's your birthday, Papa say so!"

Christine reached over the side of the bed to help the squirming boy into her lap. "Thank you for informing me, lest I would have gone all day without knowing!"

Twenty three.

Perhaps she would have enjoyed the day better had she _not _been reminded it was her birthday.

It was ridiculous of course. Her husband was far older than that, though he was no worse for wear than the day she married him. She should try more astutely to pinpoint _exactly _how old he was, if only to give her an indication of how long she should expect such continuances in health, but truthfully, she did not wish to know.

She would simply adore each day that was given them.

Such morbid thoughts firmly pushed from her mind, she chose to ignore her own age and simply embrace the excitement of her children.

And with such resolution, Christine smiled happily at her husband when he entered with a tray of tea and scones—_with _preserves and cream for delectability.

How she loved her husband.

The rest of her family had already eaten downstairs as, "There was no chance I would allow the amount of crumbs they bestowed on our poor table to enter our bed."

In that she was in agreement.

Sipping her tea she listened to Catherine regale her with tales of their baking adventures, and she succinctly informed her that her papa was not nearly so adept in the kitchen.

Christine met Erik's scowl with a beaming smile.

For all his genius, it was a very pleasant thing to be told she was capable of excelling in something of her own.

She was forbidden from assisting in the dishes, and Erik even went so far as to draw her a bath filled with sweet smelling potions. "Take extra care, my wife, you may wish to luxuriate while you can."

And with that mysterious hint as to the rest of their day, he kissed her once before disappearing.

As if she could relax _now _with her mind filling with possibilities.

She imagined a picnic with the children, possibly even Armand coming. Autumn had not so entirely set in as to make the afternoons unpleasant, so she was surprised when a modest travelling dress was awaiting her on the bed.

Trusting her husband's planning, she donned the dress hurriedly, anxious to see what awaited her downstairs.

She was not expecting the carriage to be drawn, nor her children dressed and awaiting her descent. "Are we going somewhere?"

Erik startled her when he appeared, and it disturbed her how her son's eyes twinkled when he saw her jump. "It would not be a sufficient surprise if I informed you of our destination, Christine. You shall simply have to trust me."

And with that he picked up little Erik and deposited him in the carriage before lifting Catherine in as well. Christine soon followed, but not before giving Erik's hand a squeeze in encouragement.

She did so love surprises!

Their separation was short lived as they paused before Marie's house who was waiting for them with a wide smile. "Running a tad late, aren't you Erik?"

Erik huffed in mock annoyance. "You may thank your friend for that. Apparently I made her bath entirely too tempting."

Christine blushed. "I was told to lounge. Some would call it simple obedience."

Marie laughed merrily before herding Catherine and little Erik through her gate. "Armand and Paul are out in the back waiting for you." She whispered conspiratorially. "I think they may be hiding."

The children required no further encouragement as they both hurried to find their comrades.

"I shall not keep you with idle chit chat." Marie embraced Christine before returning to the house with a wave. "Have a wonderful time, Christine!"

Christine looked to her husband who was resolutely looking away from her. "I take it we are going somewhere alone?"

Then he _did _look at her, simply so she could witness his dramatic eye rolling. "How very astute of you, Christine. Now, would you like to sit in the carriage or join your poor husband as he drives?"

She should inform him she would prefer the cushioned interior on this unknown journey, but he could always tell when she was lying—a skill she was not entirely sure she approved. Sometimes it would be nice to know that if _she _wished to surprise him as well he would not immediately see through any excuses she provided.

He chuckled as he helped her reluctantly settle beside him.

Over the years she was happy to note that she was not as completely blind to direction as she once was. She knew the way to market and to church well enough, and though the particular road Erik was taking was not one she travelled by herself, it still quite clearly led in only one direction.

_Paris._

They had returned here only once when they made a visit to the doctor who had first diagnosed Catherine, just to ensure she was not worsening. He had announced her lungs were developing nicely, and as he suspected she would not suffer many future episodes as she aged.

He was partially correct.

On one particular spring day, Armand and Catherine were participating in a game of chase and Catherine had one of her _fits _as Erik referred to them.

Armand had been near tears in his apologies, and it was only through bed rest and cool liquids that Catherine was able to breathe steadily once more.

But that had been nearly three years ago, and she had yet to experience once of such severity since.

She had a suspicion of where they were heading, but the time of day seemed very odd. Surely if he were taking her to an opera they would have departed after dinner.

Conversation was nearly nonexistent as any attempt at dialogue was met with Christine biting her tongue as she nearly begged for a hint of what was to come. Whenever she did open her mouth she was met with Erik's expectant look and twinkling eyes as he enjoyed her torment, and she resolutely refused to give him the satisfaction of mocking her with his knowledge of their destination.

But she did enjoy the drive of mild weather and sitting quietly with her husband.

Erik stopped at a little café she used to frequent when living in the dormitories, and she was quite certain now they were in fact returning to the Opera Populaire.

But why in the middle of the day? She supposed he might have planned for them to return to his underground home, but she hated to think how dusty and abused it must be after so many years of disuse.

Not exactly a romantic setting for an afternoon interlude.

She watched the bustling city while Erik retrieved their lunch, and she wondered at the normalcy they had achieved. It was a mild autumn day on her _birthday _and she was enjoying the city with her husband—the only thing that made it even more wonderful was that he was about to feed her.

Perhaps she would have to speak to Father Martin of her willingness to be bought with food.

But when she peeked in the brown paper bag Erik deposited in her hands, she thought better of it. This particular failing was between her husband and herself.

She did not suffer the same feelings at seeing the Opera's stables as she once did. Time truly did heal the wounds of the past, and through getting to know _Fille _so well she had come to enjoy the presence of horses.

The feel of Erik's hand slipping into hers as he led her away from them was even more enjoyable.

"Erik, what are we doing here?"

His face was one of shock. "My dearest Christine, have you never been to an opera before? Surely I must have taken you on more than one occasion."

She shoved playfully at his arm. "You mock me, husband. It is not a very nice thing to do on one's birthday."

He gave her a formal bow and kissed her hand in a great show of gentlemanly gallantry. "My apologies, madam. How could I have forgotten my manners?"

Erik tucked her arm in his and led her into the darkened passage of the Rue Scribe. Unlike the last time they had traversed this tunnel, Erik lit a lantern and for once she had the ability to see the path ahead of her.

When she saw the third rat she wondered if perhaps she preferred the darkness.

He was not heading in the direction of his previous home, but instead of leading her up through the Opera itself—and when they reached the little outer sanctuary she knew he had brought her to the ceiling where they had watched the operas before.

"Marie was correct, we do appear to be slightly behind schedule." He looked reproachfully at the stage, where the characters were already beginning to perform.

"A dress rehearsal?" She scanned the stage quickly for familiar items. "Oh, it is _Faust!"_

"How perceptive of you, Christine, it is indeed." He turned to her—a feat not at all difficult in the close confines of their perch. "Are you disappointed? I should have liked to take you to the actual performance, but we would never have returned home for our Cat's birthday."

She pressed a kiss against his lips but frowned after a moment. "Erik, can you not take your mask off now? I should like to spend the afternoon with _you._"

Christine knew what she was asking. He had no difficulty removing the obstruction in their home where he felt safe and loved, but here was an entirely different manner. He had faced rejection and loss in this building, but she so very much wished to kiss him without obstacle.

And he could not very well eat lunch with her while wearing it.

His fingers trembled slightly as they pulled off the mask of normalcy, and she could see his eyes darting around to ensure no one else could see.

Perhaps a distraction was in order.

"May we have lunch now?"

His eyes softened as he relaxed beside her. "Of course, my dear."

He produced the brown paper bag which had been safely tucked within his cloak and produced the simple sandwich and apple from within.

It may have been the fact that this was merely a rehearsal, or she supposed it could have been that they were so far removed from the perfection of the stage for so long, but watching the opera they had striven so long to learn from the rafters was a far different experience than Christine imagined.

They _laughed. _

Quietly of course so as not to bring unwanted attention, but when the actor's fumbled their words or tripped on props, Erik did not scowl in contempt of the art, but chuckled alongside her as they enjoyed the rapture of the moment.

And Christine thought she could become intoxicated by his amusement.

The singing was not superb, but neither Erik nor Christine truly cared. It was delightful just watching them from high above, munching on sandwiches and apples and feeling so comfortable in each other's presences as they remembered their humble beginnings.

Christine was beginning to suspect however that Erik's flask was not filled with water.

Between pregnancies and nursing, it was a rarity when she had more than a small glass of wine, and she wondered if that aided in the production of her giggles. And when Erik deemed it entirely possible that people would begin to notice her exuberance, he kissed her soundly before tugging her back into the anti-chamber in an attempt to take her home.

In truth she knew she was not drunk from the alcohol. She was merely so very happy, and when he began to help her down the stairs, she tugged at his arm until she could grasp his face in her hands and continue the kiss he had begun.

They were not exhibitionists. Their love making was built in tenderness and affection, but when Christine opened her eyes, she remembered the fornicators of long ago who had shown them _both _that pleasures could be gotten from both parties.

And it was not as though they were going to be able to continue this once they reached home. Little Erik and Christine would most likely wish to ply her with their gifts—little handmade trinkets that would make her eyes water at their thoughtfulness and the obvious help they had received from their loving father—and she was not so very impassioned so as to allow their actions to be continued in a carriage.

She was not _that _comfortable.

Christine took Erik's hand, but instead of going toward the door, she pulled him toward the wall where they had once witnessed such strange happenings.

She kissed him then, trying to express her desires without the use of words she did not know how to express.

And though his eyes flickered from the door to his wife, she knew he remembered quite well.

But he was not ravishing her yet, so with practiced hands, she began to unbutton her travelling blouse so the ample swell of her breasts supported by her light stays could become visible. "Please Erik, it is my birthday."

With a groan he was on her. She was too short and he was standing too close for their kiss to be as fervent as it demanded, so with strong hands upon her waist, he balanced her between his body and the wall. Her skirt pushed around her waist, and it felt so entirely _right _and exciting, and she laughed once more in exhilaration.

They had come _so far _together.

She did not know that Erik had since devised new locking systems on the door since their last unexpected encounter with people in what he considered _his _domain, so truly they were in no danger of interruption.

Christine only cared that his fingers were cool against her heated flesh, his lips moist as they laved attention on her breasts, and when he finally moved his coaxing fingers slightly lower so they pressed just _there, _she was entirely unprepared when he joined with her.

The wall was less forgiving than their bed, and he was able to fill her so very completely she thought she might burst from the ever coiling tension in her womb, and with his fingers continuing to ply her with affections, her moan of completion was swallowed by Erik's mouth as he moved against her.

His own was not far after.

He lowered her carefully to the floor, brushing the back of her head in a not so subtle check for injury. "Are you alright, Christine?"

She pulled him down once more to convince him of exactly how _alright _she was.

Would she ever tire of his lips?

"I think twenty three shall be a wonderful age."

Erik smirked at her in response. "Indeed."

-X-

This was not how Christine intended to spend her day.

There was some laundry that needed tending, and when she had tucked Catherine into bed the night before, it was with the idea of kissing her husband goodnight and following suit.

But the pleading began for a bedtime story.

It was rare for Catherine to request such a thing from her mother, her father being the one who was able to make such fantastical noises and voices that seemed to echo throughout the room. But Erik was in the music room, finishing off the last vestiges of a composition, and had requested Christine settle the children while he refined.

"What would you like to hear?"

Catherine pulled the blankets up to her chin as she contemplated. "Tell me how you married Papa."

Of any stories in any of the fairytales she had been read through her short life, never did Christine think she would want such a story as that.

And how was she to tell it?

That story was not a happy one. While the result was beautiful and perfect and filled with so much love and happiness, their wedding had not been.

Their courtship was destructive.

Their engagement had nearly been deadly.

It was filled with pain, lies, and betrayals, and her little girl wanted to hear it as a bedtime story.

How she wished Erik would walk into the bedroom and save her with his well timed lullabies!

But Catherine kept looking at her expectantly, and though she had just put little Erik into bed, kissed him goodnight and wished him pleasant dreams, in the same ghosting manner of his father he was suddenly at her side, looking at her with the same pleading look for story time before bed.

This was not at all fair.

Grumbling slightly as she did so, Christine tucked her son next to Catherine and sat in the chair beside the bed, contemplating how best to begin.

She would not lie to them. There would be no fairy tale princesses and handsome heroes who came to save them from the horrors of wicked stepmothers, because in actuality her husband would more likely be categorized with those of malicious intent.

So instead of beginning with '_Once upon a time…'_ Christine began in a very ordinary way. She spoke of her father's tales of the _Angel of Music, _how when he passed—this caused quite an uproar amongst the children regarding the mortality of their father, but was quickly subdued with reassurances of his good health—she became sullen and despondent, retreating from most people as she awaited her Angel's appearance.

And one day he did.

She spoke of singing lessons and loving her Angel so entirely, and the utter devastation when she discovered he was merely a man.

And though she knew Erik would scold her if he knew, she spoke of Raoul.

That particular character held particular interest for Catherine. "Was he like Armand?"

Christine frowned at the comparison. While they were both childhood friends, Armand reminded her far more of Erik than he did Raoul. He was protective and even at his young age cherished Catherine in a way that far more resembled Erik's devotion than Raoul's youthfulness.

Catherine seemed to accept this explanation well enough.

When it came to explaining the events of that last fateful night that paved the way to their actual marriage, Christine was slightly more discreet in her dictation. She focused less on Erik's madness, and more on her choice in the matter, for in reality, it was only her choice that mattered.

Erik was who he was forced to become, and it held little relevance to the man he was now.

Though to Christine the end of the tale was not at all their wedding—but indeed extended far into the future—she ended it for the night by regaling them with meeting Father Martin and the ceremony itself.

Their reaction was not what she anticipated. "Can we go underneath the Opera House too?"

"I want to be a ghost!"

A throat cleared behind her. "_You _shall now go to sleep, and I believe ghosts do _not _sleep, ergo you are not a ghost."

She eyed Erik with trepidation as he glided into the room and scooped his son from Catherine's bed and made to deposit him in his own. "Say goodnight to Catherine, Christine, for I would like a word with you."

This did not bode well.

Christine waited for him in their bedroom, deciding there was no reason why they needed to have _a word _while she was still in her day dress, and hoped she might garner more pleasant thoughts from him should she be in a nightgown.

That did not stop her nervousness for his arrival.

Was he terribly angry with her?

She should have consulted him first. Perhaps he did not want the children knowing the details of their past, but Christine could not imagine keeping such details from them.

But she should have asked, for it was not just her story she told.

It was his.

She found herself already apologizing before he had even fully entered the room. "Erik, I am so very sorry, I should not have said anything to them without discussing it with you first." Christine hung her head ashamedly. "It does not occur to me to be secretive."

Erik sighed before preparing for bed himself. "I am aware of that, Christine, and I suppose I should not be surprised the subject would arise. I was not expecting it so soon."

He came to her side and touched her face softly. "I am not angry, my love, you need not look so dejected."

She looked up at him hopefully. "Truly? It was not my intention to offend you."

Erik chuckled humorlessly. "If the story is offensive to me it is of no fault but my own. They were my actions, and though it pains me to hear of them, I cannot change the past." He leaned down and skimmed his lips across her jaw. "Nor would I choose to."

Perhaps she should have scolded him for not wishing to change his deranged behavior—the fear he had instilled in her through his actions—but she had long ago come to terms with the notion that it was the culmination of all such wrongs that led them to their present state.

And she would not change it either.

But it was that bedtime story that led to Catherine's pronouncement over breakfast.

"I want to get married today."

Erik nearly choked on his tea.

Christine was taken aback as well, never dreaming that her six year old daughter would be making such an announcement over the breakfast table. Perhaps when she was older…

She told herself not to be ridiculous, and smiled at her daughter indulgently. "And who pray tell are you going to wed?"

Catherine returned her mother's look with one of which clearly stated her mother's question was beyond absurd. "Papa of course."

Little Erik who had remained silent up until that point, determined his sister would best listen if half of his biscuit was thrown at her. "You can't marry _Papa, _he's married to _Mama._"

Christine was torn between scolding her son for throwing projectiles and agreeing with him.

Catherine pouted before looking to her father. "Really? Then who can I marry?"

A barely audible, "No one," reached Christine's ears but before anyone could offer a suitable reply, Armand could be seen through the kitchen door, knocking slightly before entering.

"Oh, I am sorry to interrupt your breakfast. Shall I wait?"

Catherine turned to her father. "Can he be the groom?"

Christine practically begged Erik with her eyes not to take their daughter's fun too seriously, and she was relieved when he muttered a simple, "If he must."

Armand looked terribly confused, but not altogether against such a game, and the rest of the morning while he was studying with Erik in the study was spent preparing the _bride._

The more painful subject of why Christine could not provide her own wedding gown was not one she would share. "I am afraid there was bit of an incident and it was not able to be mended."

She did not add that the dress had been burned. At least that was what she _thought _became of it, for she had never actually seen the garment again.

Catherine seemed devastated at the prospect of her mother's wedding gown being unavailable for play, and Christine had to smile at her enthusiasm.

For all their faults, she and Erik were still able to provide their daughter with an imagination and play dress up like other little girls.

Christine was certain she would have liked to have tried on _her _mother's bridal endowments had she the opportunity.

They settled on one of Catherine's own white dresses, and Christine promised to put a garland of flowers in her hair for the pretend ceremony.

She even went so far as to promise special treats for their tea time reception.

Catherine properly appeased in her attire, Christine allowed her to continue looking at herself in the mirror hidden in the door of her wardrobe and hurried to the study to enquire as to the readiness of the other parties.

It would not do to interrupt something truly important for the sake of Catherine's amusement.

She paused before entering the room, peeking through the slightly open door when she heard the hushed voice of her husband.

"You may be disappointed to know you were not her first choice in bridegroom. I am afraid _I _was the one with such an honor."

Armand gave a nervous laugh. "Sir, I can assure you I take no inference from this little event. This will not be the first time I've played pretend with her, though we have generally used her dolls." Christine could clearly hear the sigh at the end as he stated this.

He was after all a twelve year old boy. No matter how much he cared for Catherine, dolls would never be a favorite pastime.

"You may come in, Christine. Lurking does not become you."

Her normal reaction would have been sheepishness, but that would have allowed Erik the satisfaction of knowing he caught her so she simply entered as lady like as she could manage given the circumstances. "You make gross accusations, husband. My feelings could have been hurt."

Apparently she was not the only one capable of indulgent smiles. "A grave error on my part then, wife. I take it our daughter is ready?"

Christine nodded in affirmation. "Prepared and asking if Father Martin will be presiding."

Erik glowered at her. "Our son may play that particular part then. I believe I shall be charged with giving her away."

Hopefully little Erik would not throw the Bible at her instead of providing the vows.

The play ceremony was held outside, and as promised Catherine had little flowers interspersed in her curls. Erik was dutifully walking her across the lawn while little Erik stood looking rather bored at the entire venture.

What else could be expected from a boy his age?

Once Armand and Catherine were situated before the boy, Erik drifted back to Christine so they could properly watch a children's interpretation of a wedding ceremony.

It did not in the least resemble the reality, as the presiding boy was fashioning rather ridiculous demands of what married life could be like while his sister corrected him.

Armand simply smiled at them both.

"Do you think they shall ever marry?" It nothing else, this entire topic had brought the subject to the forefront of her mind, and she wondered terribly if Erik had suffered the same thoughts.

His hand clasped hers and he drew her to his side. "They are all passable children, I am certain they shall all find prospective mates eventually. I found you…" The last part was whispered and she wondered if she was meant to hear.

"I find it interesting that even after I told our story to them, Catherine should look so favorably toward marriage. Apparently our tale was not so traumatic as I had feared."

Erik chuckled ruefully. "It was a risk you took by giving them any details at all. I doubt I would have done so." He turned to her then, their eyes finally drifting from the squabbling children. "You think Armand is more like me. You think that she shall grow up and find happiness with him like we have."

It amazed her that these were statements instead of questions, and it struck her once more how much he had truly changed. He did not doubt their wedded bliss, nor did he think of the boy who so obviously loved his daughter already was the same threat that Raoul had posed to his happiness.

He accepted it, and was appreciative of the life that was given should they choose such a path.

"I would not have changed anything, Erik, surely you know that. It was our choices that brought us here, and I shall never regret them."

He kissed her temple softly and their focus went back to hear little Erik declare them husband and wife, and Christine found herself entirely grateful he did not know it was customary to seal with a kiss.

"And yes, I believe Armand shall marry our daughter."

Snuggled against her husband's side, she did not feel the pang of loss she might have done, and it was with a smile she and Erik escorted their little band of merry makers back into the cottage.

She had told her children of her role as a living wife, and while she may have thought it an unbearable burden at the time, she had come to understand it as the culmination of love and contentment.

And when her husband whispered in her ear that perhaps they should celebrate the wedding night with a consummation of their own, she offered no argument.

A living wife _indeed. _

* * *

Sooo… I can hardly write _fin _for truly, how can there be an end?


	5. Appendix IV

I would like it to be known that _Destruction of Obsession_ was officially completed on **8/06/11. **This appendix was also written at that time, but I had decided to keep things more focused on Erik and Christine and just… did not post this. There has been some renewed interest in this story and I offered to give this in email form, but was encouraged to post it instead. So here it is!

In addition, I wanted to let everyone know that I have (_finally_) posted a new story that is quite different from this one, called _A Rose in Winter. _So for anyone who is interested, it can be found on my profile.

Thank you all for your continued support! I still love reading all your reviews, and hope you enjoy this last interlude!

* * *

iv

Erik never thought he would face such a problem. In the past it was not a question of determining the most effective way of revealing his face to an acquaintance, it was always one of ensuring such an occurrence never took place.

Until today.

Christine had begged him to cease wearing the mask at home as his skin was become inflamed more and more each time he donned his masks for Armand's lessons.

She had sworn to him Armand would not react badly so long as Erik contained his fear—surely the boy would react accordingly. What she did not seem to understand was that such was nearly impossible.

It was the worst kind of vulnerability when his mask was removed. While his body mimicked the nature of his face, he still felt like a macabre version of a man when forced to view his own countenance.

But things had changed had they not?

He felt more of a true man this past year than he had at any other time in his life. Even when he was a boy and had yet to comprehend the devastating effect f his deformity, he never felt quite normal—but that most likely was a result of his treatment since birth.

His wife had made him realize that he _was _in fact a man—for an angel such as herself would never deem to be with him in _any _manner unless it was true.

He had a soul that had not been damned since conception. He had a wife and a daughter who loved him, and that same wife had begged until near tears that he not persist allowing the irritation of his skin to continue through continued contact.

But he would not—_could _not— willingly remove his mask for the boy as she suggested after a conversation as to what he was about to witness.

Christine was currently collecting him from his mother's house as she still did not approve making the boy traverse the snow on his own. Erik had offered to accompany her of course, but she insisted he remain home with Catherine and she would be fine.

He had insisted she put on an extra petticoat before allowing her to leave the house, and thankfully she had obliged with a simple roll of her eyes.

Impudent wife.

Erik could hear the front door open from his place behind his desk, _félin _Christine practically glaring at him from her place upon the sofa as if her rightful place had been usurped by her master.

Perhaps he had grown soft throughout his marriage, for surely they would not have dared behave thusly in the past.

He was not certain he minded.

The additional pattering of feet confirmed she had been successful in retrieving his pupil, and he chuckled at the accompanying voice.

"Armand come back here this moment! You are tracking snow all over the floor!"

Apparently his darling, eye rolling wife was frazzled.

"Sorry, Madam Christine!" The boy did _not _in fact sound repentant, but his steps could easily be heard making their way back the way they came.

He should not do this. He should reach into his desk and pull out one of his masks and allow the boy to look at him curiously once more before distracting him with new delights of reading or mathematics.

But he must have courage. What could possibly be the consequences?

Armand could prove too terrified to allow further contact. He could return home and fill his parent's minds would tales of monsters and corpses bent on his annihilation.

But even if that proved true, it had been well established in the neighborhood that the small little cottage that was their home was in fact haunted by its previous owners. Certainly the ghoulish figure he would regale them with would merely be confirmation.

If he were truly honest with himself he was more frightened at the boy's rejection than any possible disruption to his family—for if _that _were a possibility he most certainly would suffer through the skin irritation, no matter how painful.

He would miss him.

There was something ultimately satisfying when the little boy reached some new milestone. Whether finally understanding the most simple of multiplication, or that horses do _not _in fact appreciate their tales being pulled, each moment was opportunity for Armand to learn through guidance—not through the forced solitude that Erik suffered in childhood.

And possibly a rather morbid side effect, whatever mistakes his pupil made now would save Catherine a scraped knee and a few tears in the years to come.

Therefore all of it was well worth the effort.

Christine was apparently satisfied with the boy's dryness for the small feet could once more be heard on the hard woods floors, only this time it was quite obvious his shoes had been divested in favor of allowing him to run through the halls in his socks.

The last thing he needed was to fall and split his head open.

He opened his mouth to chastise the boy but Christine hurried after him. "You are going to be the death of me, Armand!" She was holding his hand when they entered the study, and any opportunity to change his mind and quickly don a mask was gone.

They could see him.

Erik forced his hands not to tremble, as well as control his voice, though it did waver slightly when he greeted them. "I trust your walk was pleasant?"

Christine cleared her throat nervously, and pulled Armand's hand as she made her way to the sofa—and it was to Erik's distraction and satisfaction that _félin _Christine gave her a look of disapproval as well.

But Armand refused to follow. He was looking at Erik with wide eyes, and he stood unmoving near the doorway. "Monsieur Erik?"

This was it. Every muscle in Erik's body screamed for him to lash out, to frighten the boy further until he fled so that any possible threat to his emotional wellbeing was eradicated, but he forced those instincts down. Christine had promised. If he was calm, Armand would be accepting.

And his wife was a terrible liar.

So using every bit of self control he possessed, he called out to the boy. "How exactly do you intend to have your lessons in the doorway?"

Christine looked to him sharply, but thankfully did not protest.

This was how he _always _spoke to the boy. She had requested his normalcy and any coddling on his part would be seen as confirmation that he was not in fact Armand's tutor.

The small boy seemed to agree.

His steps were still cautious, but quite obediently he went to stand before Erik's seated form as he always did when waiting his instruction for the day, but instead of roaming around the room in hopes of finding either Catherine or their feline, his eyes were still looking at Erik's face.

Searching, but for what Erik could not fathom.

He wanted to tell him it was rude to stare—that it was a terribly ungentlemanly thing to do and he should be ashamed for his behavior—but as he looked at the slightly trembling boy, he realized such a reaction from him would devastate Armand.

To the boy, this was his friend and mentor, and perhaps a small dose of kindness would not be so untoward after all.

He mustered up the last of his courage and silenced the snappish tone that threatened to overtake him and placed a hand on Armand's shoulder. "You need not be afraid."

Erik was about to say more when Armand cut in—perhaps a lesson in manners _was _in order. "I'm not afraid. I just don't know if it's still you."

He raised a thin eyebrow. "Can you not tell? Is not my voice the same? Would not Madam Christine know her own husband?"

Armand swiveled his shaggy head to look to Christine for confirmation of his teacher's identity, and when she came to them also and bestowed Erik's face with a kiss, the boy simply nodded. "Then what are we doing today?"

For all of the boy's calmness and supposed acceptance, he was still looking at Erik' warily, but not enough to make Erik second guess his decision to show him. It had to be done some time, and perhaps it was best it be done when he was still so young.

Catherine certainly did not seem to mind.

It was his daughter who eventually broke the silence that had pervaded the room upon Armand's enquiry, for in truth, Erik had not planned his assignment for the day—he had not supposed the boy would be willing to continue through a lesson.

It was not a cry of hunger as those were more forceful demands, but simply a murmur of unhappiness that she had woken up and no one was yet tending her or bringing her into conversation.

Armand was quick to see to her.

"It's alright, baby! Your papa does not have a nose but I'm sure he still loves you!" He had scampered to her cradle in the corner, and was crooning at her even as his own small hands were placed on her stomach.

Erik was still uncomfortable that the boy felt so easy in touching his daughter.

His choice in _informing _his Cat of her father's deformity was another matter entirely.

Christine released a choked sound and beckoned Armand sit with her on the sofa. "Come here, _mon cher."_

Armand looked torn between continuing to keep his tiny friend company and obeying Christine. But leaving Catherine was deemed an impossibility, so he turned to Erik and looked at him beseechingly. "Will you come hold her?"

This boy was ridiculous. Erik had been tending to his daughter long before he even knew of her existence and yet he felt the need to _ask _him to care to her.

But the entire exchange proved too strange for his emotions, and he found himself agreeing with a simple, "Of course."

Satisfied that Catherine would not be alone, Armand crossed the room and sat nearly in Christine's lap—much to Erik's dismay. But he could never fully bring himself to be jealous of his wife's preoccupation when his daughter was safely in his arms.

And her suckling upon his finger always drove away the last vestiges of such emotions in any case.

Erik found himself watching Christine and Armand in rapt fascination, though he did move to sit opposite them in his leather reading chair.

Her delicate hand was running through the boy's messy locks as she spoke. "It is good you are not frightened Armand, because there is _nothing _to be frightened of. Monsieur Erik is as he has always been, but some people would not understand, which is why he wears his masks."

"I don't like the black one," he contributed.

Christine chuckled even as Erik rolled his eyes. He was quite familiar with her distaste for that particular article. "Nor do I." She touched his chin gently so he would look at her. "But this is important. You cannot tell anyone about what lies beneath his mask, alright? They could be very mean to him if they knew."

Armand looked to Erik in sorrow. "Would they really?"

Erik nodded in response. "They have in the past, yes."

The boy sat in thought for a moment before turning to look not at Christine, but to Erik with determination in his eyes. "I won't talk about it, I promise!"

And then he did something so entirely unexpected, Erik nearly stopped breathing at the gesture.

Abandoning Christine's lap, the boy ran to him and threw his arms around Erik's torso—not as careful of Catherine as Erik would have preferred, though she remained unharmed. "I'm sorry they were mean to you, Monsieur."

Erik had no intention of fostering more of a relationship with this child than that of teacher and student, but at the subtle stirring in his heart at the exchange, he wondered if it was not at all like what he felt for his daughter.

There was nothing binding him to this child—not through marriage, and most certainly not by blood—but as the boy abandoned his lap in favor of dismissing the subject by asking Christine for a cookie, Erik was left with a distinct feeling of _love _for this boy.

A feeling that was becoming not quite so foreign to him in its beginnings.

The rest of their morning was spent in the study, though Armand steadfastly refused to sit still long enough to practice his reading, as he much preferred to lie about the floor with _félin _Christine and Catherine—the latter who had just discovered the joys of flailing about on the floor as means of entertainment.

Erik should have required Armand to study, but as his daughter squealed with delight at every strange face the boy made, he allowed himself to simply enjoy the moment—a task which proved much easier when Christine returned from exchanging her own sodden clothes with more comfortable attire and joined him at his place on the sofa.

"You could have told me you were going to show him this morning." Her whisper was not heard by either child for which he was grateful.

"I was not certain I would find the courage to do so, and the last thing I desire is your disappointment."

She took his hand in hers. "I only suggested it for the betterment of your relationship, not because you had to please me."

But how could he not strive to please her in every way? She had given him more than any other person on this earth, and she would not make her suggestions in vain.

And after all, she had once more proven herself correct. If anything, Armand seemed even more content with his current situation, and even his confession to not possessing an affinity for certain masks in Erik's collection only furthered the notion that removing it was necessary.

Not wishing to entirely waste the morning to the lazy lolling of familial bliss, Erik kissed Christine's cheek before leaving the room.

It was not often they would look in the trunk still positioned in their bedroom. Even after so long it still sent a shiver down his spine at the word _theirs. _

His mouth twisted in a smirk of satisfaction.

Many men, even the handsomest of specimens could not say they consistently shared a room with their wives.

But _he _could. And always would.

He was rather surprised Christine was able to restrain herself from seeking out which treasures he had brought from his home, but whenever he would open it, the items remained undisturbed.

That is until now.

Under Catherine's tiny christening gown which had been replaced after their return home from the service, he found the small brown book he sought.

It seemed so long ago that he used this very book to stir Christine's compassion and understanding. His outer appearance most assuredly had not changed, though he supposed he had gained a small amount of weight due to his wife's constant presenting of baked goods that he was helpless to refuse. Not when she baked them for _him _alone.

No, the difference was more rudimentary.

He did not feel like a beast any longer.

So when he returned to the study and placed the book in Armand's eager hands so he might entertain Catherine through age appropriate material, it was not with the intention of providing hinting or hidden lessons buried within the pages.

It was simply a book that the boy could manage to read to his daughter.

Christine, his _beauty, _nestled against his side as he rejoined her, and they enjoyed the company of each other even as Armand would scurry to Erik every few lines for help with a word.

And each time he returned to Catherine, profusely apologizing to _baby _for the interruption.

Perhaps that talk would be necessary much sooner than anticipated.

Armand was quite dismayed then when his audience grew hungry, and regretfully Christine rose to placate their daughter with a meal.

Erik was not yet comfortable with allowing Armand to witness his daughter's feeding, so rising quickly he ushered the boy to the kitchen.

"Madam Christine is always thirsty once my Cat has had her fill. Perhaps you would be so kind as to assist me in making her tea."

Armand beamed at him. "Can I have some milk pleases? Then I can drink with her!"

Erik looked at him thoughtfully. "I am not certain. _Can _you drink milk?"

Once more showing he was not in fact a stupid child, Armand amended his question. "_May_ I have some milk please?"

His tutored sniffed at him imperiously "If you must." But Erik was already filling a teacup with the creamy liquid, so Armand's enthusiasm was by no means diminished.

Erik placed a generous amount of sugar and cream in the bottom of his wife's cup, even though it steadfastly went against his sensibilities.

Her Christmas gift to him had been superb. She was correct that there was a difference to her voice from relative disuse, but what she lacked in practice she far exceeded in emotion. The love she felt for him was palpable in each note and breath, but it was her eyes that truly took his breath away.

So clear was her adoration for him, and the way her eyes never left his person through the entirety of the piece gave an intimacy unlike any time she had sung to him before.

She was perfect.

And it was with that thought in mind he placed a touch more sugar and cream in her cup—technique be damned.

He was no longer her Maestro who would demand physical perfection in hopes of achieving the ultimate in vocal range. He was her husband, and her voice was only enhanced by her happiness in their marriage.

By the time the water had boiled and he carefully poured it into the china teapot and Armand had successfully opened each cupboard and drawer in search of what Erik could not imagine, he was quite certain it was safe enough to return to his wife and daughter.

Christine was buttoning up her blouse when they entered, and Erik was grateful she was sitting in the center of the sofa so he was not forced to contend for her side with the little boy who was already running to join her.

"Are you happy now, baby? I didn't get to finish the book yet!"

Erik placed the boy's milk in his hands and gave him a stern look. "You may complete the book when you are finished and not a moment before." The last thing he wanted was the challenge of removing milk from furniture and carpets.

Armand nodded solemnly and Christine laughed. "That is right, Armand, I very much would like to hear the end of the story!" She looked to Erik as she said this, and it was quite plain she was talking more to him than to the little boy. "I believe it ends rather happily."

"Don't give it away! Cat hasn't heard it before!"

Erik settled beside her and raised his own cup of tea to his lips. "That is correct, wife, some do not like to hear the end before it is time."

Christine rolled her eyes at their insistence but sipped her tea contentedly as she was squeezed between her two favorite gentlemen.

He lowered his voice so it was only a mere whisper in her ear even as he watched Armand put a drip of milk upon his finger and offer it to Catherine. "Thank you."

She looked at him rather searchingly for a moment, and he wondered once more how she was able to ascertain his feelings simply through expression. Perhaps with time he would learn to hide the emotions that had once been hidden so entirely by his masks, but when he considered how pleased she was when she correctly guessed his meaning, he determined that was not in fact the proper course of action.

That is if the pleased expression she was giving him was any indication.

"You are most welcome, husband."

He was thankful for her suggestion to showing Armand—who now proved himself a proper recipient of Erik's affections. He was thankful for her motherly goodness that made her love him more—not send him into fits of jealousy and bitterness he had once feared.

And most of all he was thankful she loved him.

-X-

Erik never considered himself a sadist, truly he did not.

For all his building of torture chambers and executions he performed through his life, it was never the agony he enjoyed, but simply the morbid fascination of what the body could endure.

But if he were being honest with himself, he was greatly enjoying watching the young man Armand had become, fidget before him.

He had known this day was coming. For nearly seventeen years he had endured the notion niggling in the back of his mind that one day this boy would sit in this very chair, nervously twitching his hands like a timid school fellow as he mustered the courage to ask the inevitable question that sealed Erik's heartache.

Erik supposed he should give him credit. Before he opened his mouth to speak, he managed to calm his nerves enough to sit straighter in his chair and create a semblance of confidence.

"Sir, as I am sure you are very aware, I have loved your daughter for many years now, and I have done my best to secure funds to care for her throughout the duration of our marriage." The small twitch above his left eye was back—a tendency Erik had noticed in his childhood that had quite obviously carried into his adult years. "I would like to ask for Catherine's hand in marriage."

Obviously.

There was little reason to have asked for such a formalized interview than to ask that very question, as matters of business were no longer so distinct between master and pupil.

When Armand turned fifteen, it became clear to Erik that the matter of his employment should be in the forefront of his mind. While certainly it would have been of the greatest luxury to simply continue in the fundamentals of learning at leisure, the boy's parents were not prepared to carry him financially much longer.

And for more selfish reasoning, Erik was interested in utilizing him for his own small venture.

Years at the Opera had spoiled him, and the idea of having a steady income—sans the tedious outpouring of time and menial effort was quite intriguing.

Erik was not lacking in finances, but there was something quite pleasant about never worrying about such matters—and that could only be continued through the steady influx of coin from either employer or more illegitimate means.

He forcefully pushed the latter thought from his mind.

Armand was a gifted child. Well, perhaps not in terms of genius, but he did have an affinity for mathematics and scale, and the talent for architecture merely required honing through practice.

In his twelfth year they had begun building models. Nothing too terribly complex—merely four story structures with drawbridges and motes. Only one item had been a requirement of the assignment, the rest had been Armand's insistence that Catherine would be far more impressed should the modest building resemble something more attuned to her fairy tale books.

And who was he to argue on such a point?

But those signs remained with him as he suggested Armand join him as he opened his small business under the assumed name _Leroux. _A common enough name to go without notice, but dignified enough to be held in high regard to those who were fortunate enough to stumble upon the advertisement.

It certainly appeared enough were in need of such a professional.

His actual business was held in a small building in the village, and all the plans provided by clients were given to that address, without ever actually meeting their architect. If surveying needed to be done, Erik would take Armand into Paris, but he made it absolutely clear he would not leave his wife and children for more than a day.

Thus anything outside the actual city was not acceptable.

But Armand proved a proficient and avid learner, and Erik also enjoyed the diversion of true projects again—though some of their work was _too _simple in its design. On such occasions he would create intricate passageways running throughout and leave Armand to discover them.

Eventually the boy proved capable in that area as well—though he always returned the plans with a bit of an eye roll when he did so.

Insolent boy.

It was also quite clear the boy was saving. Erik imagined someone his age would be far more willing to purchase frivolities when given regular _francs, _but Armand would carefully count each coin before pulling out a small leather notebook and tallying his figures.

That same notebook was being presented to Erik now.

"You see, sir, I have money saved. I _can _care for her."

Perhaps he should be concerned the boy had been planning on marrying his daughter for so many years.

But as he looked at the imploring eyes, and the hair that _still _remained slightly in the boy's—_man's—_face, he knew that if he had been unable to realize that his daughter was worth waiting for, he was not at all worthy of her.

And he certainly had waited.

Armand was now twenty four—much past the usual age of men who made a living. He no longer lived with his parents, but rented a room in the village. Erik had inquired once why he did not move to Paris permanently, but Armand simply stated it would not feel like home.

Erik entirely understood such a sentiment.

He took the small leather book in his hands, and though it was not an overwhelming sum, he was impressed by his frugality.

Especially when Armand had no notion that what he had allotted for the cost of a home would no longer be necessary.

Erik sighed and closed the book thoughtfully. "Have you spoken to my daughter about this?"

Armand flushed. "Not exactly, sir. I thought it best to receive you blessing first."

Now this _did _surprise him. He appreciated his adherence to the proper way of things, but Catherine surely should have given him some indication that this conversation would be well received—either from Erik's perspective or her own.

They did not have a formalized courtship. He never came to their home as a beau or a suitor specifically seeking her company, he simply was always _there. _

So he _must _have received some indication from her that these advances were welcome.

A bold move to be sure.

"Have you even discussed your feelings with Catherine? Or your plans for the future?"

The fidgeting returned. It was quite clear this boy—_man—_before him had centered his entire life around the hope that Catherine would one day be his bride, but Erik did know one thing.

The boy was terribly shy when it came to talk of feelings.

While his eyes spoke magnitudes of his adoration, when Catherine reached pubescence, Armand's ability to maintain speech had greatly been affected.

Much to Erik and Christine's amusement, though they tried admirably to keep their laughter to a minimum.

They were not always successful.

Erik thrummed his fingers rhythmically upon the desktop. "I have little doubt of your capability as a husband, though your ability to communicate with your future wife is cause for concern."

Armand's head jerked up at his words. "Future wife? You allow it then?"

He rolled his eyes at the question. "You would not have possessed the courage to ask me had you not already some glimmering of the answer." Erik grew serious as he gave a reproachful look. "But you must speak to Catherine, Armand. I cannot make these claims for her, nor shall I presume upon her for your sake."

Armand nodded emphatically. "Of course I shall speak to her, but you are correct in assuming I would not have come to you if I was not moderately sure of her feelings." His ears turned a remarkable shade of pink—the tips barely poking out from his mass of hair.

Erik's eyebrows rose of their own accord. "Do you have something you should like to confess to me, Armand? Have you been behaving in an unseemly fashion toward my daughter?"

He had little concern, and that delightful swell of humor as he regarded his pupil returned.

Catherine confided mostly in her mother—a fact that he could not fault her for of course, as Christine was by far his confidant of choice as well—but in matters of conscience it was always her father she sought. And had something even so inconsequential as a lingering hand upon hers occurred, it would most certainly have caused her to confess to Erik.

Erik entirely blamed her many years spent exposed to Father Martin's attentive sermons and care.

"Close your mouth, Armand, it is most unbecoming."

He obeyed promptly.

As he spoke, there was a timid knock upon the doorframe. "Papa? May I come in?"

"You may enter, Cat. I believe our business here is complete."

How the boy was going to propose when he could scarcely _look _at Catherine was beyond him.

But he supposed his timid manner was far superior to Erik's own disastrous courting skills. Perhaps it would have been different had Christine's father remained alive. He might have been procured as a violinist in the Opera on a more permanent basis, and then perhaps Erik would have let the girl alone.

_His _girl.

Such was not to be, however. He had died and though misguided, Erik had seen fit to care for his future wife through her remaining girlhood, much like Armand had done.

And though he did not wish to spoil the surprise of a proposal, Erik felt it his duty to speak to his daughter before such protestations could begin. If she blatantly refused the hintings Erik should offer on behalf of Armand, then he would track down the man and inform him his daughter did not need such stresses as to politely refuse him.

So waving his hand gracefully in a gesture not at all unfamiliar to his former apprentice, Armand left the study with a small bow to Catherine. She looked at him thoughtfully before seating herself in the same chair that was just vacated.

"Have you a new project contracted, Papa? Is that what he wished to speak to you about?"

He smiled at her softly. "I suppose it was a contract of sorts, and one that required my opinion."

She nodded, nibbling her lip as she did so.

So like her mother.

"Is something troubling you, _mon ange?"_

Catherine sighed, before straightening her shoulders and looking at him forcefully. "Has Armand ever given you the impression he had a particular regard for me?"

He would have answered her—he was even willing to go so far as to inform her of the conversation that had just taken place, for he could not deny her when he could plainly see the trepidation and near _fear _in her eyes that he could deny such observations.

Cat pressed on before he could do so. "You know I care for him deeply, but he has not even asked to _court _me. Mama says I should not concern myself, that men act when they are ready, but I simply ask for reassurance that I am waiting _for _something!" She looked at him apologetically. "I am sorry, Papa, I should not have enquired. What he discusses with you is his business."

She stood to depart, but Erik rose as well and took her hand and led her to the sofa where she rested against his side, much as she had done in her girlhood. "Oh my Cat. While it amuses me greatly when Armand comes to me with such fears, it pains me to see you doubt his affections for you."

"Papa, does he love me? Truly?"

He kissed her temple, and smiled when her brown curl tickled his lips as he did so. "I do not think you shall have to wait very long for the answer to that question." Erik tapped her nose reproachfully. "But your mother has been explaining his affections for some time now. You would do well to listen to her."

She blushed before bestowing a kiss upon his cheek. Though his heart swelled as it always did when she expressed her love in such a manner, it never ceased to amaze him how different it felt when such gestures came from his Christine.

Love truly did come in many different forms.

He was simply grateful he was able to experience them.

"Thank you, Papa."

She left him then, no doubt going in search of Armand, and Erik very nearly departed to seek out his own love when a slight thump was heard behind the desk.

He sighed once more.

Would the tasks of a father never cease?

"You may come out now, Erik. Your sister has gone."

He was not entirely sure why he installed the passages and small hidey holes at the same juncture as he created a second bedroom for his son, but when he had originally explained it to Christine it was with the notion that Armand and their boy would benefit from seeing how construction took place before they settled on architecture for a chosen career.

Ever since, the passages were inhabited by their own resident ghost.

"Will she really marry him?"

At thirteen, little Erik was not quite so small as he once was. In fact, his height nearly rivaled his father's. His eyes indeed were also the same yellow, though perhaps with a tinge more humanity in them than his progenitors.

And much to his surprise, Erik did not resent his son's appearance.

In fact, his son had become a greater comrade than he should ever have expected. Truly fashioned from his own genius, he was easy to teach and quick to learn, though his propensities for trouble demanded constant guidance.

And sturdier locks.

"Surely that cannot surprise you."

The boy merely shrugged in response—the same bony shoulders that Christine desperately tried to coax into musculature through delectable treats.

Aside from his affinity for chocolates, his son also shared his taste for more savory things, much to his mother's chagrin.

"Now go spy on your sister. I allow them _one _kiss for their engagement and not a bit more!"

The boy had the cheek to salute before disappearing through the door, and Erik was confident his wishes would be seen to admirably.

The only thing lacking now was his wife.

Something quickly remedied if he had any say in the matter.

This cottage was allowed more than one ghost.

* * *

Sooo… I hope I did the right thing posting this!


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